A Liberated Woman
by GriffinStar
Summary: Now rated 'M'. Joan's story, will be covering how she met & married Phil Norton, their life on the farm, little Marty visiting,his coming back as Doc Martin, her view of his relationship with Louisa & the pregnancy. NO spoilers for S5
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of ****Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my over-active imagination.**

**I've always thought that Joan must have had a rather colourful past, so I thought it would be rather fun to have a go at writing her story. Told from her point of view, it's written using her customary forthright and no nonsense humorous style. **

**So – this is my story of Joan Norton, nee Ellingham, of how she ended up living in Cornwall at Havenhurst Farm and becoming the broad minded woman that she did. It is based loosely around information gleaned from all four series, but it does **_**not**_** contain any spoilers to do with the fifth series.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 1**

I was born in London and spent the early years of my life there, brought up by my parents George and Elizabeth Ellingham, along with my brother Christopher, who was several years older than me. My father was a top surgeon; my mother was from a very well connected family, and had never had a paid job in her life, she had simply concentrated on being a wife and then a mother. My brother took after our father and was tall and blonde; I took after our mother and was small and brunette.

Christopher was the apple of their eye, and he could do no wrong. I was a mere girl, of no importance or relevance. His education was given much consideration, the best schools picked out, and of course he went up to Oxford to study medicine, to follow in father's illustrious footsteps.

I was packed off to the nearest local private girls school to ensure that I had a good, basic education, sufficient enough to enable me to become a good wife for some suitable young man when the time came. This was 1950's post war Britain, when everyone was struggling to maintain the old order, not realising that everything would soon be changing in the new era that would be swept in with the arrival of the sixties.

When I expressed a desire to follow in my brother's footsteps to study medicine, my father laughed at the very suggestion, even though I was equally as academic as Christopher.

"What on earth would be the point of sending you to university Joan? Total waste of time, you just concentrate on preparing to be a good wife and mother, and get those foolish ideas out of your head,"

That's what my father told me in no uncertain terms. Without his support, I knew I had no hope of ever going to university, so very resentfully I had to give up on those dreams. But it meant that I had no idea of what I do with myself once my schooling came to an end. I went on various escorted trips abroad in Europe which I thoroughly enjoyed, and then my mother sent me on a high class cookery course that she had deemed a suitable way for me to spend my time. Much to my surprise, I really enjoyed it and found that I was rather good at cooking. My mother also tried introducing me to several young men that she considered to be suitable potential suitors, but they bored me rigid, and seemed so easily shocked by my forthright manner of telling things how they really were, of calling a spade a spade. They seemed to think that well brought up young ladies were supposed to simper and agree with everything they said, and not actually have opinions of their own. I couldn't think of anything worse than having to spend time with any of these wet young men, and so I decided that I would come up with something, _anything_ else once I had given the subject my full attention over the summer.

Tradition had always been that Christopher and I spent our summers with my father's older brother Richard and his wife Demelza at Havenhurst Farm in Cornwall – they had no children of their own and so always happily welcomed us. This meant that mother and father could have their summer break touring the south of France, to the Italian Lakes or wherever the latest fad was for, unencumbered by children.

Christopher and I both loved our summers spent in Cornwall when we were small children, but as we got older, Christopher began to hate it, and protested that he didn't want to go, that it was boring, that there was nothing to do. I, on the other hand, loved it, and always threw myself into helping out with everything on the farm. Uncle Dick was very different to his brother Christopher. He was a man of the land who had married a local Cornish girl and settled down happily into farming, and it would seem that I had inherited that same love of the land.

So at the very beginning of that summer in June 1961, when I had just turned twenty, I went down to Cornwall on my own, Christopher now being far too busy with his medical studies to come with me. Within a very short space of time, I found that I really loved it there and I began to envisage a life for myself in Cornwall. I hated all the falseness of London life, where my tendency to speak my mind just didn't sit well in polite circles.

Uncle Dick had recently been widowed, and as he was getting older and finding it harder to cope on his own with the farm, he'd hired a live-in farm hand, a local young man called Philip Norton. Uncle Dick explained to me soon after I arrived that Phil's father had owned one of the neighbouring farms, but had recently passed away suddenly after suffering a heart attack and that his farm had had to be sold to pay off large debts that he'd accumulated when he'd taken out several ill advised loans to buy some expensive new machinery for the farm.

"I was bloody lucky to be get a man like Phil, he really should be running his own place rather than just being the hired help here, I can't pay him anything like his true worth. This job must be just a stop gap for him, so I'm not sure how long he'll stick around. He's probably got a little bit of money left over from the sale of his dad's farm, so I imagine he's looking for another place that he could afford to buy, maybe just a small one, to start up his own place again." Uncle Dick told me.

Phil was a few years older than me, and he seemed to be a rather serious young man of few words, but it was soon apparent to me that he was hard working, honest and decent. I could see him looking at me with some amusement when I first arrived and declared my intention of helping around the farm as well as taking on the domestic chores such as cooking and cleaning around the house. I was just a posh young slip of a girl come down from town in his eyes. Of course, that made me all the more determined to show him what I was made of, to work hard and to pull my weight.

I was horrified when I first arrived by the state of the kitchen. When Aunt Demelza had been alive, she'd always kept a well stocked kitchen, but now it was in a pretty sorry neglected state.

"Would you mind if I gave the kitchen a good going over, and got in some fresh supplies, so that I can do some proper cooking?" I offered to my Uncle.

"You go right ahead my dear. Do whatever you like; consider the kitchen your domain. I'll give you some housekeeping allowance if you like, if you're happy to take on the cooking while you're here," he told me, clearly delighted by my proposal. I didn't offer to do it because it conformed to the traditional view of female duties - the simple truth of the matter was that I enjoyed cooking, and so that was why I was happy to do it - not because it was expected of me as a girl.

Phil gave me a lift in the old pick up truck from the farm to the village to get all the necessary supplies. I hadn't yet learnt to drive, and wouldn't have been able to fit everything into the basket on the front of the old bike that I usually used to cycle down to the village.

"How long are you down here in Cornwall for then?" Phil enquired as we drove along.

"I don't really know to be honest. I usually go back to London around the beginning of September, but I'm not exactly sure what my plans are this year. Anyway, how about you, how long are you planning to stay on here? Any plans for your own place at all?" I queried.

"Like you, I'm not really sure, depends if anything suitable comes up I suppose. So, what are you going to be cooking then? Fancy dishes that you learnt on that cookery course in London you told us about?" he asked.

"Nothing too fancy, I'm planning to adapt the recipes to cater for more basic Cornish tastes," I told him.

"Oh I see, you think we're a bit common and basic down here then, do you eh?" he teased me.

"As common as muck – and that's why I love it here so much," I teased back.

As a live-in farm hand Phil's meals were included. From the state of the kitchen, it was clear that neither Phil nor Uncle Dick were any kind of a decent cook, so to come in from a hard days work to find a tasty supper on the table would no doubt be extremely welcome to the men.

I think Phil thought Christmas had come twice when he found home baked scones, and cakes and all sorts of other delicious goodies on offer when he came in for his tea breaks. And before long, he and Uncle Dick were sat ready and waiting impatiently at the table for their evening meal, once they had sampled a few of the dishes that I lovingly produced. It was all very satisfying for me to be so welcomed and appreciated by the two men, having been at rather a loose end since I'd left school. And I had the variety of getting out on the farm, where I tended the chickens, started my own vegetable garden and herb patch and helped out on all sorts of jobs where I could. Phil would even come and ask for my help sometimes now, especially as Uncle Dick was becoming frailer, and I had proved myself to be another useful pair of hands around the place, not afraid to muck in with anything. I could see that my standing had risen somewhat in Phil's eyes, as he realised that I was not just a silly young girl after all.

Inevitably, I found myself drawn to him. Having worked on a farm all his life, Phil was a very fit and active man, and I found myself curious about his body, about the rather impressive muscles that I could see rippling through his shirt as he worked. He was a stocky, well built man, of average height, but as I wasn't very tall he towered over me. He had the bluest eyes I thought I had ever seen, thick, sandy blonde hair, and a scattering of golden freckles across his nose that increased threefold during the course of the summer. He also had the most wonderful deep voice with a strong Cornish accent that I loved. Having had very little contact with the opposite sex thus far, I suppose my curiosity was only natural now that I was thrown into close proximity with such a prime male specimen.

And I think it fair to say that he was pretty curious about me too, from the number of stolen sideways glances I caught him throwing my way, and naturally I was flattered by the attention. I was not what anyone would have considered an outstanding beauty, but I was pretty enough, with a rather curvy, buxom figure and a generous bosom. I started leaving an extra button undone on my shirt, and then leaning over in front of Phil in a seemingly innocent way, to see the look on his face as he struggled not to stare, savouring the power that I was beginning to learn that I had over men. I also enjoyed the admiring glances from the other young men in the village too, having always been virtually ignored at home, and being made to feel worthless compared to my golden brother.

But however much I may have tried to entice Phil, he was always a perfect gentleman, and he never made a move to touch me in any way, although we often spent many hours together in the course of the day. An easy companionship grew up between us as we worked together. We made jokes and laughed as we took our tea breaks and meals together and found we shared a very similar sense of humour. He soon realised that I wasn't easily shocked, and was not averse to using the occasional expletive myself when things did not go to plan.

One day, I looked up to see him laughing as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen, when he heard me swearing.

"Buggeration! That stupid bloody cooker!" I cursed, as I removed a batch of cakes from the oven that had burnt at the edges. I hadn't quite got used to Uncle Dick's range cooker yet – it didn't matter too much for things like casseroles, but was a bit more critical for things sponge cakes.

"I'm sure they'll taste just fine, I'll come and sample one later if you like, just to make sure," he offered with a wink. Phil enjoyed his food and always gratefully accepted any of my offerings. I remembered the old adage of '_the way to a man's heart is through his stomach'._

Another day, he watched me wheeling out the old bike that used to belong to Aunt Demelza. It was a glorious summer's day, and I was wearing shorts and a little sleeveless blouse. I noticed him staring at me, but I wasn't really sure what he was thinking, whether he liked what he saw or not, but I hoped he did anyway.

"I was just going to cycle into the village to get some ingredients for a new recipe I thought I'd try out tonight, but the ruddy tyre of this old thing is flat again, I think it must have a puncture," I explained, as I kicked at the wheel in frustration.

"Come here, let me take a look at it for you," he offered. He was brilliant with anything mechanical, he could fix up old machinery to work as good as new, and was always taking things apart and fixing them. He'd even managed to get Uncle Dick's old tractor running again so that he could use it around the place, no mean feat as it had always been a cantankerous piece of machinery at the best of times. Why his father had thought it necessary to foolishly fork out a fortune for so much expensive new machinery when Phil was clearly more than capable of keeping their exisiting ones going was a mystery to me, and must have been so frustrating for him, I imagined.

I watched as he sorted out the old bike for me. He was wearing his usual jeans and a short sleeved checked shirt, which showed off his powerful arms, which I noticed were covered in golden hairs, and I found myself day dreaming about what it would feel like to brush my fingers along those strong arms, and how it would feel to be held in them. To my horror, I realised that he had turned round and caught me staring at him with a silly dreamy look on my face – worse still Uncle Dick had come out to see what the problem with the bike was and had seen the look too.

"Right well, is it sorted now? Because I need to get to the shops before it gets too late," I said hastily, to cover my embarrassment.

"Yep, good as new now," Phil replied, as he handed the bike to me. I quickly got on, the cool breeze cooling my rather flushed cheeks as I rode off.

When the end of the summer came in September and I would normally have returned to London, I told my parents that I was staying on and would not be returning yet. Although my mother protested that I would never meet any suitable young men down in Cornwall, she didn't press too hard for my return, and anyway I could argue truthfully that Uncle Dick really needed my help as he was becoming much frailer. My mother assumed that my help entailed just the domestic chores such cooking and housework. I knew that she would have been horrified to see how I mucked in on all the other jobs around the farm, as it was not at all ladylike to do so, in her opinion.

Phil made no comment to me about my staying on, but he happily accepted my help around the farm as if it was the natural order of things now, and we settled into a comfortable, if very demanding and tiring routine. I'd never been so happy before, I felt as if I'd found my place in life and I never wanted to leave. Uncle Dick was more than happy for me to stay on and run the kitchen as my own, which I really enjoyed. I also loved how the jobs on the farm naturally succeeded each other as the seasons changed, it all seemed part of the natural cycle of life. The views of the beautiful Cornish countryside and coastline from the farm were breathtaking, and I couldn't ever imagine a better place on earth to live.

As Christmas approached that year, there was the usual dance at the village hall, which was considered the social event of the year. I desperately wanted Phil to ask me to go with him, and kept dropping hints, but Phil was very shy about things like that. He could talk to me easily enough about everyday practical things on the farm, jobs that we did together, that kind of thing, but anything personal, he simply clammed up and went red.

In the end, in my usual upfront way, I decided that it was no good beating around the bush, I could be waiting till the cows came home before Phil would ever get round to asking me.

"Philip Norton, are you going to ask me to the village dance or not?" I boldly asked him outright, looking him straight in the eye one day, as we sat down together for our elevenses in the kitchen. There was a plate of Eccles cakes that I'd baked earlier that morning, and Phil had already eaten two of them as they were his favourites.

He immediately blushed and looked down at the table.

"I err…don't think…I don't usually…I'm not very…" he stuttered.

"What's that? You're not going? Oh well in that case I'll go with Jim Trellisk, he asked me to go with him when I saw him in the village last week," I told him truthfully. There was a distinct shortage of young women around for all the young farmers and helpers in the area.

"No! That is I mean…" Phil looked up from the table, horrified. Of course I had no intention of going with Jim Trellisk, but Phil wasn't to know that, and it was about time he made a move I'd decided. I was pretty certain he was interested in me, just as I was in him, but he really needed a kick up the backside to get him to act, it seemed.

"You don't have a problem with me going to the dance with Jim do you? Especially as you're not planning on going," I pointed out.

"Can't dance. So not much point in me going is there?" Phil mumbled, clearly rather embarrassed by this confession.

"I could show you if you like. We could have a few practice lessons beforehand," I offered. This could be rather fun, I thought to myself. A jolly good excuse to get up close and personal. Clearly Phil thought the same, because his face lit up as he smiled back at me, though he was still blushing furiously.

"Would you do that for me? But I think I've probably got two left feet, I'll warn you now," he told me.

Uncle Dick watched on with some amusement. He was a canny old boy who said very little, could be gruff and blunt in the standard Ellingham manner, but actually had a heart of gold, I'd realised. The death of his wife had knocked him for six though, and the fight seemed to have gone out of him, he'd lost interest in life, and mostly just left Phil and me to get on with things now.

"There's the gramophone in the front parlour with a few records you could use if you've a mind to. Demelza used to like to listen to them sometimes, it would be good to hear them played again," Uncle Dick now offered helpfully.

"If you're sure you don't mind, that would be great, wouldn't it Phil?" I looked at him for his agreement.

"I'm not sure as I'll be any good, but I don't suppose it can hurt to give it a try," he mumbled back, but with a little smile on his face as he looked over at me.

So that evening, under the watchful eye of Uncle Dick, I showed Phil the basic steps of the waltz, which was all he would ever really need for somewhere like the local village dance. None of the latest dance crazes had reached this neck of the woods. I put his hand on my waist, put my hand up on his shoulder, and then took his other hand in mine. I saw him gulp nervously as we attempted to waltz round, once Uncle Dick had set the old 78 record going.

"_One_, two, three, _one _two three," I instructed Phil, "That's it, just step round the room to the beat of the music."

Uncle Dick laughed out loud for the first time since he'd lost his wife, as he watched poor Phil stumbling around the room, not in time with the music whatsoever. There was no doubt about it, he did have two left feet, not helped by the fact that I think he was rather overwhelmed by being in such close proximity to a member of the opposite sex.

In the end we collapsed together in a heap on the settee next to Uncle Dick, shrieking with laughter when our feet became entangled for the umpteenth time.

"Best night's entertainment I've had in years," Uncle Dick pronounced, as he wiped away tears of laughter.

"See, I told you Joan, I can't dance to save me life can I? I'll be the laughing stock of the village," Phil told me ruefully, once we'd caught our breath.

"Oh no one will mind or even notice, it's hardly the same as a London society event here in the village is it?" I told him.

Truthfully I suspected most of the young men there wouldn't have a clue about dancing anyway. All they really wanted was the opportunity to get close to a girl, any girl would do, but preferably one that was under forty, unattached and still had most of her own teeth - anything else was a bonus as far as they were concerned. Chances were few and far between for this kind of contact between the sexes in rural Cornwall, even though it was now the beginning of the swinging sixties.

In the end Phil did get us tickets for the dance, I suspected mainly because he didn't want me to go with anyone else, rather than any keenness to show off his dancing skills.

_To be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of ****Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my over active imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 2**

I spent rather an unusually long time getting ready for the dance – I didn't bother much with feminine grooming and fripperies, there really wasn't much point when a large part of my day was spent working on a mucky farm. But on this particular day, all the necessary jobs on the farm had been completed, and Uncle Dick had been catered for. I had run myself a nice deep hot bath, remembering to leave the immersion heater on so that there would still be plenty of hot water for Phil when he came to have his bath later on, and as I lay there soaking, my mind went back to its usual train of thought these days. I had spent many a night lying alone in my bed in my room, thinking about Phil lying alone in his bed in his room just along the landing, imagining what he looked like underneath his ever present overalls, having caught glimpses of his broad muscular frame during the summer months when he'd been dressed just in his shirt sleeves. I imagined, well hoped anyway, that Phil had similar thoughts about me too, dressed as I usually was in very unflattering overalls and thick clothes now that it was winter time.

Hence the need tonight to remind him of the fact that I was actually a woman. So I had spent quite some time choosing a suitable outfit to wear to the dance. Luckily, on my mother's insistence, I had packed a few dresses when I'd first come down from London, so I did have a couple to choose from for this evening, and I couldn't imagine any one down here in Cornwall worrying that they were last season's style.

In the end I'd settled on a blue stripy dress that was fitted at the waist, with a large bow in the front and then it flared out into a full skirt which was knee length. It had quite a low v neck, not low enough to be considered tarty or vulgar, but low enough to give what I hoped was a tantalising glimpse of my cleavage. I had a nice matching cardigan too, but once the village hall had warmed up, which it surely would from the body heat of all the hoards of people that were planning to attend this major event in the village calendar, I hoped I wouldn't need it. I dried my short dark hair so that it framed my face in as flattering a style as I could – I kept my hair short as it was practical for working on the farm, but I think it quite suited me in any case. I wasn't the type of girl that went for long flowing curls or bouffant backcombing, it just wasn't my style, and luckily there was a fashion for 'elfin' style cuts that were shaped around the face, which even the one solitary ladies hairdressers in Portwenn could manage to achieve when I went every six weeks or so to have mine cut.

I scrubbed at my hands and finger nails in the bath to try to make them seem more like a young lady's hands rather than the farm labourers they often resembled these days, but I drew the line at attempting to paint them with nail varnish. As for make up, a quick dab of powder and a little lipstick was about the sum of my efforts - I hated the false look of thick make up and felt pretty sure that Phil would think the same.

Finally I was more or less ready, and I slipped on a pair of heels – I couldn't remember the last time I'd worn a pair of dainty shoes, or stockings for that matter – not since I'd been down in Cornwall anyway. Wellies and socks were my usual attire these days.

As I made my way downstairs, I heard Uncle Dick talking to Phil, telling him how my mother had just been on the phone, demanding that I return to London in time for Christmas. Both men looked up at me, and I saw the surprise in their eyes as a proper woman, dressed in a proper feminine frock, made her way down.

"Alright, alright, no need to gawp," I told them rather more sharply than I intended, feeling rather self conscious

Phil just stood there tongue tied, completely unable to offer even a simple compliment. He'd scrubbed up rather well I thought, wearing as he was his Sunday best suit, rather than his usual jeans and baggy old jumper, but he looked decidedly uncomfortable as he fiddled with his collar and tie that were just a tad too tight for him.

"Well you'd best be off then, have a good time but make sure you get her back safe and sound by midnight," Uncle Dick instructed Phil, patting him on the back. I think he looked on Phil almost as a son now, but he also felt protective towards me as he was in loco parentis.

"Of course, yes, I'll look after her, don't you worry," Phil promised.

"I'm more than capable of looking after myself you know," I bristled huffily, as I picked up my coat and bag and made for the door.

I then carefully picked my way over to the pick up truck that Phil was borrowing, avoiding as best as I could all the mud and other muck that always pervaded the area. Wellies were so much easier; you didn't have to worry where you trod with them. And as there was no heater in the truck, my feet were soon frozen as we drove to the village. I began to remember just why I didn't usually bother with all these silly trappings and finery, when I heard Phil nervously clear his throat and then say rather shyly,

"Y…you look very nice Joan."

"Why thank you Phil, so do you," I replied, rather thrilled as this was the first time that he had ever said anything remotely complimentary to me, and it made all the effort I had put into my appearance seem worthwhile.

As we made our way into the crowded village hall, Phil offered to get me a drink, and then made his way over to the bar to join the throng of people.

I looked around and found us a table, where I put my bag and coat down. On one side of the hall stood a gaggle of young girls, giggling and whispering. On the other side was a group of young lads, some of whom it would seem had already had a few pints to drink, judging by their flushed cheeks and unsteady manner. But I couldn't really blame them for needing some Dutch courage. It surely had to take a huge amount of confidence to make that long walk across the hall and be bold enough to ask one of the young girls to dance, in front of all her friends – only to be rejected and then have to make the long walk back again to the other side, and then to be jeered by your mates.

Phil returned with a half a pint of shandy for me, and a pint of beer for himself, and then sat down with me at the table, taking his jacket off and putting it on the back of the chair. I couldn't help but stare at him - he looked so very masculine with his broad chest, and I fantasised again about how it would feel to have those big powerful arms wrapped around me.

"Good turn out, isn't it?" I said, for something to say, as we sipped our drinks.

"That it is, most of the village is here, I reckon," Phil agreed.

"You must know just about everyone, if you've lived here all your life," I observed.

"Yep, reckon I must," Phil agreed again, and then scowled as he noticed Jim Trellisk waving over to me. I waved back to be sociable, much to Phil's apparent displeasure, especially as he saw that Jim was now making his way over to us.

"Joan, glad you could make it. Perhaps I can have a dance with you later eh?" Jim asked, very obviously staring at my chest as he swayed slightly. Clearly he was one of the lads that had decided to get tanked up before coming to the dance.

"Maybe, Jim, we'll have to see," I said evasively, as I looked over at Phil. I thought I heard him mutter 'tosser' under his breath, but then the band started up, ending all conversations due to the loudness, and Jim wandered off, no doubt to try his luck with some other girl.

The small dance floor in front of the stage where the small band was playing quickly filled up, and it was soon apparent that there was no room for waltzing, all that was possible was for couples to shuffle round the floor in each others arms. I saw Phil watching and I could see him relax as he realised that this was something that even he could manage, so he leant over to ask,

"Do you want to dance?"

"I thought you'd never ask. I'd love to," I replied, smiling up at him as we made our way onto the dance floor.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and lay my face against his chest, as he put his hands around my waist to pull me close to him. We shuffled around the floor along with all the other couples. I couldn't tell you what the music was, all I knew was that it felt wonderful to be in his arms, just as I'd imagined it would, and by the way that Phil was holding me so tightly against him, I guessed that he felt the same way too.

The room became very crowded as more and more couples took to the dance floor, and so it grew very hot and unbearably stuffy, especially with all the smoke from the cigarettes too, so when the band stopped playing for a minute, I said to Phil,

"Can we step outside, get some fresh air?"

He nodded his agreement, as he reluctantly let me out of his arms, and then took my hand to lead me towards the doors and outside, then down some steps to a quiet corner.

I was just taking in a few deep breaths of fresh air, when I was taken by surprise as I was pushed back against the wall by Phil as he bent down to kiss me. When I offered no resistance, he deepened and intensified the kiss. His kiss was hard and demanding, and I could taste the beer on his breath, but it wasn't unpleasant. I hadn't ever been kissed before, so I had nothing to compare his kiss to, but I quickly decided that although it was maybe rather rough and unrefined, it was full of undoubted passion and lust, and I found I rather liked it, in fact I liked it rather a lot.

Finally he broke away, and as we both stood there catching our breath, I managed to gasp,

"Wow! Where did that come from Phil?"

"Oh Joan, you must know I'm mad for you, have been for months," he whispered as he started to kiss me again, and in his enthusiasm he pushed me back against the wall hard again, and I could feel the corner of the brick digging into my back. But it was exciting and dangerous, making me feel alive in a way that I never had before as my primal instincts kicked in. I found myself kissing him back and raking my fingers through the hair on the back of his head. This excited him even further, and I felt his hand on my waist, on my hips, then under my skirt, feeling the top of my stocking as I instinctively started to raise my leg to wrap it around him….

Then, just as suddenly as he'd started our passionate interlude, Phil broke it off with a deep groan as he pulled away.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry Joan, I don't know what came over me," he managed to say, clearly struggling to get himself back under control.

Disappointed by the sudden curtailment of such a pleasurable experience, I tried to pull him back to me, to get him to kiss me again, but he continued to resist.

"No Joan, you don't understand, you're just a young girl and you don't know what you're playing with. We have to stop now before things go too far. It's just that I'm absolutely crazy about you. Feeling the way I do and seeing you, being close to you every day, but never being able to touch you until now – well I suppose it just pushed me to act that way and I apologise if I shocked you. I mean I'm supposed to be looking after you, for goodness sake, that's what I promised your uncle didn't I? But I've never met anyone like you before, and you're all I think about, all I dream about, because you're everything a man like me could ever want. You came down those stairs tonight looking so beautiful and so sexy, just like some film star, and yet on the farm you muck in with everything and you're just as good as any man I've ever worked with."

"Phil, stop such talk, you're exaggerating. There's no harm done, and anyway I liked you kissing me, and well…even touching me in that way," I told him rather coyly.

"But don't you see it's not enough for me, I want more, I want it _all _because I know that you're the one for me. I've really fallen for you in a big way, so I can't bear the thought of you leaving and going back to London. Joan, I want you to stay here and marry me. I want us to be man and wife more than I've ever wanted anything else before in my life," he told me, to my absolute astonishment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer****: ****Doc ****Martin ****is ****the ****property ****of ****Buffalo ****Pictures****. ****I ****own ****nothing ****except ****my ****over ****active ****imagination****.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 3**

I looked at Phil in total and utter shock.

"Did you just propose to me? Has that pint of beer gone to your head or something?" I asked him in disbelief.

"Yes I did just propose, and no, it's not the booze talking." Phil said firmly.

"Don't be so bloody ridiculous Phil! No one proposes on their first date!" I told him, still in shock.

"Well I had to didn't I? Because if you're going back to London next week, I might not get another chance," Phil protested.

"Who told you that I'm going back next week?" I asked, puzzled.

"Your Uncle, he said your mother is demanding you go back next week."

"Oh right," I would have to ask Uncle Dick about why he had given Phil this impression, when I had no intention whatsoever of leaving.

"Anyway, this is all a bit sudden isn't it? You surely don't expect me to throw myself in your arms and say yes, just like that, do you?"

"I'd love it if you did, but I suppose that would be too much to hope for. But I don't think it is sudden, not for me anyway - surely you've realised that I've been sweet on you for ages now?"

"Well I thought maybe you fancied me a bit, but I had no idea… you've never said so much as a word before now to give me any hint that you were thinking along those lines, have you? I had to twist your arm to even get you to come to the dance tonight. And being 'sweet' on me surely isn't the same thing as wanting to make a life long commitment in getting married, after just one kiss. Are you sure it isn't just raging hormones making you want to get me into bed?" I challenged him.

"No! For God's sake Joan, I didn't mean…it's not just about…getting laid you know, although I can't deny that I really fancy you something rotten. But it's much, much more than that. We've seen each other nearly every day now for the best part of six months, and I've never felt so close to anyone before, we have so much in common and we get on so well, so I just know that we could make a really good life together. And I know you're a bit younger than me, but that doesn't make any difference, does it? Maybe all this seems a bit sudden to you, but it's been on my mind for ages, you're the reason I've stayed on at the farm and not made any effort to move on. I've just been a bit too shy to tell you what I've been feeling, I'm not very good with all that romantic lovey-dovey stuff, I've not had much call for it up to now I suppose. But tonight I told myself I had to be a man not a mouse. I couldn't bear to think that just because I'd not had the courage to speak out, I'd lose you, because you'd go back to London not knowing how I felt, or even worse that maybe some other bloke would sweep you off your feet from right under my nose. You felt so good in my arms tonight... I just _had_ to say something. I thought, hoped that maybe you might have some feelings for me too, seeing as you wanted me to take you to the dance even though you knew I couldn't dance to save me life. And I want to show you the respect a decent, well brought up girl like you deserves before… well, you know. And that means getting married first. So what do you think Joan?"

I looked at Phil as he tried to explain his feelings to me in his clumsy way. It was obvious that he was sincere, and up until tonight he'd not so much as laid a finger on me, so really I could hardly accuse him of trying to seduce me. No, if anything it was the other way round, as I'd tried so ineffectually to tempt him with my unbuttoned blouse. So what did I want?

I knew without question that I wanted to stay in Cornwall rather than return to London. I knew that Phil was a decent, hard working man that I counted as a very good friend, and I knew that I was very attracted to him physically. Was that true love? Were those good enough reasons to marry him? Wasn't this all a bit hasty and reckless? But wasn't it also rather romantic and exciting? Not that he'd actually declared his undying love for me I suddenly realised.

"Do you really love me Phil? Couldn't it be that you're infatuated with me, that you're just not used to working with or even being around a woman, and it's a bit of a novelty maybe?" I quizzed him. I knew that he had no brothers or sisters, and that his mother had passed away some years ago before the recent passing of his dad.

"_Of __course_ I love you Joan, that's what I've been trying to say, that I'm madly in love with you. I've never felt this way before, and I've been hoping that maybe you felt the same way, or at least that maybe in time you'll feel that way? Please say you'll marry me?"

"I don't know Phil, it's such a big step," I hesitated, a bit scared because this was proper grown up, serious stuff he was talking about, not just a bit of silly light hearted romance.

"So are you turning me down? Are you saying no? Do you need more time to think about it, because I'd rather wait for the right answer than get the wrong one straight away."

Phil looked straight into my eyes now, and I could tell that this was a life defining moment for him, that he really truly did want to marry me. I looked at him as he pleaded with me, and my heart melted as I gazed into those wonderful deep blue eyes of his.

"Kiss me again," I demanded.

"What?"

"You heard me. I need a little more convincing, Phil Norton," I whispered as I snuck back into his arms, my hands exploring his chest and then pulling him towards me. He felt so good, so strong and so very masculine, and as he started to kiss me again, everything fell into place and made perfect sense. I knew what direction my life would head in now. I would marry Phil and I would stay in Cornwall.

**xXx**

"I wondered how long it would be before he finally got round to telling you how he felt, and popping the question. That's why I told him you were going back to London next week, to give him a bit of a scare and nudge him in the right direction," Uncle Dick confided to me after Phil had gone up to bed to let him talk to me in private. He'd been asked by Phil for his blessing for our engagement, which he'd been more than happy to give, but had pointed out that it wasn't just him that we had to get approval from. I pushed to the back of my mind for the moment the issue of tackling my parents with our news, that could wait for now. Perhaps Uncle Dick could try to have a word with his brother first, to pave the way for us.

"What you mean you knew? How come you knew when I didn't have a clue?" I demanded to know.

"Comes from years of experience. He was clearly smitten from the first time he saw you. I soon sussed out that it was taking him three times as long as usual to do his jobs because he was mooning around trying to catch a glimpse of you." Uncle Dick informed me knowledgably.

"Really? I never realised," I replied in surprise. This was a revelation, it hadn't seemed like that to me these past few months, although now I came to think about it, I suppose there had been times when he'd conveniently been nearby when I'd needed a hand, or jobs that he'd asked me to help with that I'd felt he could probably have managed on his own. And he'd never once complained about helping me with the washing up after meals, a time when we often fooled around, splashing water and flicking the tea towel at each other.

"Ah well, youth is wasted on the young my dear. But you two do remind me in so many ways of when I met my Demelza - she was just a young slip of a girl like you when we got married and we were very happy together here on this farm, just such a shame that we were never blessed with children. You'll be the making of that young man, you're just what he needs to bring him out of himself, liven him up a bit if you know what I mean. And he'll be a good husband for you, he'll never mess you around or give you any trouble, of that I'm certain. So I'd be delighted for the pair of you to live here after you're married, and fill it with the large rowdy family that this place is crying out for. And in any case, you know that this farm will be coming to you one day Joan."

"Oh Uncle Dick, why couldn't you have been my father instead, life would have been so much nicer if you had," I told the old boy truthfully, as I gave him a hug.

"Thank you Joan, that's about the nicest thing you could have said to me. I think of you as my daughter anyway, the way you've looked after me and helped out on the farm since…well since I've been on my own. And Phil is a very decent young man, one of the best, and that's what I'll be telling your father too, though I can't promise he'll take much notice of me, we've never really seen eye to eye on anything to be honest, chalk and cheese we are. Anyway, I'm sure that you two will be very happy together."

"Thanks, I'm sure we will," I agreed, thinking to myself that it was very unlikely that my father would share the same sentiments as his brother.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my over active imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter ****4**

Phil was all for making a special trip to London for him to formally ask my father for permission to marry me, as I was not yet twenty one years of age and technically still a minor. But I knew that would be a total disaster. Phil was not in any way the kind of man that either my mother or father had in mind for me to marry, so I could imagine only too well how they would look down on him, and treat him with derision and condescension, especially with his strong Cornish accent that I loved so much. Technically he was just a simple farm labourer, with calloused workman's hands, so unlike my father's precious surgeon's hands that he looked after so meticulously. They would hate him.

And yet I knew Phil to be the best of men, honest, hardworking, loyal, dependable, and I was pretty sure that we could make a go of things together on the farm. I could not bear to see him treated badly by my parents, so I insisted that he let me deal with them in my own way.

"I still think I should ask your father properly, but I suppose you know them best and so I have to accept your judgement in this," he reluctantly agreed, although he wasn't at all happy about it. I was learning that Phil believed in things being done the right and proper way, and that he was always up front and honest about everything.

"My parents are simply ghastly Phil. My brother too, come to that, so the least we have to do with them the better. Honestly, it's for the best," I urged him.

So on the Monday morning after I'd accepted Phil's proposal, I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and then phoned my mother. I'd asked Uncle Dick not to say anything to my father yet, not until I'd tested the water with my mother as I'd decided that it was best to deal with her first. I rang when I was certain that my father would be out at work, and after going through all the usual banal pleasantries, I broached the reason for my call.

"Actually, I've got some rather wonderful news for you mother. I've just got engaged to be married," I told her breezily, then held my breath and winced as I waited for her reaction.

"You've _what_? Who on earth have you got engaged to? Do we know him? What does he do?" she demanded to know, her horror apparent by the tone of her voice. There simply weren't any suitable men in Cornwall as far as she was concerned.

"His name is Philip Norton, and no, you don't know him. He works here on the farm with Uncle Dick."

"He works on the farm – you mean he's the hired help? Oh Joan, for goodness sake… you're not…you know…in the family way are you? Has some local Romeo managed to sweet talk an innocent young girl like you into letting him have his way with you to satisfy his disgusting carnal urges? I knew I shouldn't have let you go down there by yourself, Richard has always had such a lack of respect for protocol and the way things should be done. Of course that Demelza was just a local girl, and she was no better than she ought to be …." My mother was starting one of her rants, so I interrupted her.

"No mother, I don't _have_ to get married, if that's what you're worried about, Phil's not like that at all. We love each other, and we want to get married, it's as simple as that. Uncle Dick thinks very highly of Phil and has given us his blessing. He says that we can live on the farm with him once we're wed," I told her.

"No, I'm sorry, this won't do, you'll have to come back home immediately, so that you can get over this foolish infatuation, then we can work on finding you someone far more suitable. And I'm sure your father, with all his connections, could arrange to get things sorted if there were to be any unfortunate…_consequences_," my mother carried on, not having really listened to me.

"Mother! I'm _not_ pregnant, and I'm not coming back to London. If you and father won't give me permission to get married, then you leave us no option, Phil and I will just wait until next June when I'm twenty one, and then we'll go ahead and get married anyway," I told her firmly. My stubborn and rebellious nature meant that even if I had had any doubts about getting married I would certainly never admit to them now. This marriage had to go ahead, and it had to be a success. She had unwittingly backed me into a corner from which I would never back down, never give her the opportunity to say 'I told you so'.

"Well if that's the case I wash my hands of you young lady! I didn't bring you up to be the kind of stupid girl who throws herself away on some…some Cornish lout. Go ahead and marry your low life lover boy, but don't expect a penny more from us, your allowance will be cut off, and we certainly won't be coming to any wedding if you go ahead with it," my mother yelled down the phone at me, before slamming it down.

"That went well then," I thought to myself wryly, glad that Phil had been working up on the top field, safely out of earshot.

When he came in at lunch time, he was anxious to know how things had gone with my mother.

"Well, I'm afraid it looks as if we'll have to wait until I turn twenty one in June to get married, and then they won't be able to stop us. And I don't somehow think they'll be coming to the wedding," I informed him as tactfully as I could. "Pretty good result actually, all things considered."

"I'm not happy about this Joan. Surely if I were to meet them, reassure them that I'll take care of you and make a decent husband…" he tried to argue.

"Trust me Phil, it's better this way. They've never really understood me, we've never been close or seen eye to eye, and all that matters to me now is our life together here in Cornwall," I told him as I reached up to kiss his cheek, hating the fact that he was hurt and upset at being perceived to be not good enough by my parents.

"All this doesn't sit well with me Joan, but I suppose I just have to accept that you know best, although having to wait six months to marry you is going to test my patience and self control to the limit," he grumbled, taking me in his arms to return my kiss. Since he'd declared his feelings, he was becoming much more demonstrative towards me, and I absolutely loved it, having been pretty much starved of any kind of affectionate displays from my parents. However, secretly I was actually quite glad that we weren't getting married straight away, that I had a few months to get used to the idea, and for us to get to know each other better. I was only twenty after all.

Phil was even more upset a couple of evenings later, when he unfortunately overheard a telephone conversation that I had with my brother Christopher.

"What's all this I hear about you getting engaged to some Cornish farm hand then Joanie?" he asked in his usual, seemingly casual, drawling manner. "Mother's in such a state about it, and you know how father hates anything upsetting the old girl. I mean what on earth is she going to tell everyone? It's going to reflect very badly on all of us you know."

"Then tell everyone I've joined a convent to become a nun if that makes you feel better, because you're all just going to have to get used to the fact that Phil and I are going to get married whether you like it or not. I don't see what all the fuss is about anyway. Quite honestly I'd have thought she'd have been happy to have me off her hands and out of her hair, down here in what she considers the end of the world in Cornwall. We've never been exactly close, as you well know," I told him.

"Yes but are you sure this chap isn't just some gold digger, thinking that you've got some sort of fortune or inheritance due? You always did have a soft spot for the under dog didn't you? Has he spun you some sob story and you've taken pity on him? You're just a simple naïve young girl Joanie, with no experience of the real world at all. And as for this business of you taking up farming in Cornwall, well it's just laughable, pathetic, you'll never make a decent living from it. You need to grow up and get some sense back into that silly head of yours," he lectured me.

I saw red at this, and rather lost control of my temper, shouting back at him,

"I'm not stupid, silly or naïve, and how _dare_ you suggest that Phil is some kind of a gold digger after me for my supposed fortune. Of course you're right that we won't make the kind of money from farming that you no doubt will as a fancy surgeon, but I wouldn't want your kind of life for all the tea in china. I'd rather be as poor as a church mouse than end up married to some boring stuffed shirt that mother deemed suitable for me. So you can stick that in your pipe and smoke it!"

This time it was I who slammed down the phone, only to see Phil staring at me, having just come in, and having certainly heard at least the last part of the conversation, if not all of it.

"Is that what they think of me? That I'm only interested in you for your money?" he asked me, horrified.

"Oh pay no attention, that was just my horrid materialistic brother. He's only ever interested in the financial worth of anything. He's only training to be a surgeon because he believes that's where he can earn the most money, not for the greater good of mankind. So naturally he can't believe that anyone would ever want to marry me just because they love me. He has to believe that there is an ulterior motive, he always has to try to spoil everything for me," I told Phil emotionally, trying not to give in to the tears that were pricking my eyes.

"I really think I should go and see him, that I should try to explain to him…" Phil started to say.

"Save your breath. He really isn't worth it." I insisted.

"But Joan…"

"Just leave it Phil. You'll only end up making things worse, you just have to trust me on this one," I snapped at him, on the very edge of bursting into tears, which luckily he realised just in time. The argument that he'd been about to continue with died on his lips. Instead, to try to lighten the mood, his sense of humour came to the fore, which luckily I was in tune with by now.

"So how much are you worth? Can I have a flashy new car when we're married then?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

I burst out laughing, and slapped him on the back playfully.

"We'll have a couple each shall we, ride round like Lord and Lady Muck surveying the estate hmm?" I said, thinking of the muddy yard outside.

"Sounds perfect to me," answered Phil as he gave me a reassuring hug, understanding that for all my bravado, I was still pretty upset by my brother's words. The main reason that I was so upset was at the unjustness of it all. A man as good as Phil truly did not deserve to be treated in such a way by my horrid snobby family.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of ****Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my over active imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 5**

So we had to wait six months to get married, until I was twenty one and wouldn't need my father's permission. Uncle Dick tried speaking to my father on our behalf, explaining that he could vouch for the fact that Phil was a very respectable young man, but it was to no avail. My father stated that he would have nothing to do with us if we insisted on going ahead with our plans. So be it. They might as well be on a different planet for all I cared. I decided that there was no point in looking back now, because I knew that my future lay in Cornwall with Phil.

Phil would rather we had been able to get married straight away, but nevertheless he accepted the situation with as good grace as he could muster. And anyway, what was the big rush, I tried to tell him. We would have a bit more time to get to know each other better, to make plans, and arrange the wedding, all that kind of thing.

"And six months isn't really that long if you think about it; imagine if I'd only been eighteen and then we'd have had to wait for three years," I pointed out.

"No we bloody wouldn't, cos we would have eloped to Gretna Green if that had been the case. I'm still wondering if that wouldn't be a better option for us now," Phil grumbled.

"Don't be silly, the time will fly by, you'll see," I tried to convince him.

Phil insisted on buying me an engagement ring, despite my protests that I didn't really need one.

"Can't have an engagement without a ring to show the world that we're betrothed," he insisted, and I had to admit that 'betrothed' sounded rather romantic to me, even if it was a rather old fashioned term.

So one afternoon he drove me into Truro, and took me to the jewellers shop. He went and had a quiet word with the proprietor, who disappeared for a moment and then reappeared with a tray of engagement rings, which was set down in front of me.

"Choose which ever one you like Joan," Phil told me. Clearly these were the ones that were in his carefully worked out budget.

Despite my protestations, I was actually very excited to be here choosing a ring with Phil, it felt really special. I looked along the rows, and my eye fell upon a very pretty diamond solitaire – the stone was only a small one, but what I liked was the fact that it had some engraving of leaves on the band.

"How about this one?" I pointed it out to Phil.

"Try it on, see if it fits," he suggested. So I did, and it was a perfect fit, as if it was meant to be mine.

"Yep, that's the one I'd like," I told him as I stretched up to kiss his cheek excitedly as I admired it, and Phil smiled happily back at me.

"We do a matching wedding ring for that one too, with the same engraving," explained the man.

"Is that what you'd like Joan, to have the matching one?" Phil enquired.

"Well it would be nice, but if it's too expensive I don't mind just having a plain one, honestly," I told him truthfully.

The proprietor quietly told Phil how much the matching one would be.

"I can't afford that now, but maybe I could leave a deposit?" Phil suggested, rather embarrassed that he couldn't afford both straight away. He was very aware that I came from a much wealthier background than him, and I knew he really wanted to get me exactly what I wanted. But, it didn't worry me in the least not to have something grand like the large impressive diamond ring that my mother had. That was not my style at all, and in any case would be very impractical for my lifestyle now.

The proprietor seemed to take pity on us – it was just before Christmas after all.

"Tell you what, I could do you a special deal for the two items if you like. I'd have to order the wedding ring in for you in the correct size in any case, which will take a couple of weeks to come, so you could pay the balance then if that would suit you better," he offered, thinking that would maybe give us time to save up the balance. He wrote down the total figure for Phil, and I could see him working it all out. He never bought anything that he couldn't afford, not after his disastrous experience with the loan his father had taken out. But clearly he was happy with the deal, because the two men shook hands on it.

I'd only agreed to let Phil buy me a ring if it counted as my Christmas present, so I wasn't allowed to have it until Christmas Day. I was just as thrilled with my little engagement ring as if Phil had bought me one with a huge diamond. Mine had been bought for me by him with all his love, and that meant far, far more to me than anything else, and I knew that I would treasure it for ever.

**xXx**

That Christmas of 1961 was the best of times. Just me, Phil and Uncle Dick.

Of course my present from Phil was my engagement ring, which he gave to me on Christmas morning. He held a piece of mistletoe over his head and demanded a kiss before he would produce the box from behind his back. I happily obliged, putting my hands around his neck to pull him down to me to give him a long lingering kiss.

"Happy Christmas, my betrothed," I whispered in his ear.

"Happy Christmas, wife-to-be," Phil whispered back, as he brought the box out from behind his back, opened it up and took the ring out. He carefully slipped the ring on my finger very proudly, and then we kissed again.

"This time next year we'll be an old married couple, won't we?" he joked as we finally broke apart.

"We most certainly will," I agreed happily, throwing my arms around him as he swirled me round.

Uncle Dick was watching us from the doorway, a smile creasing up his wrinkled old face as he held up a bottle of champagne and three glasses.

"Now you've made it all official by putting a ring on her finger, I think we should celebrate the occasion with a toast," he announced, and then proceeded to pop the cork and fill our glasses. "Congratulations to you both, Philip and Joan, on the occasion of your engagement. May your engagement be short, but your marriage be long."

We raised our glasses and chinked them together, then sipped our champagne. I don't know which made me more lightheaded on that day– the bubbly, or sheer happiness.

**xXx**

And so we were living together under the same roof – together and yet _not _together, and it wasn't easy, especially for poor Phil who was very much a hot blooded young male after all. Of course Uncle Dick was also with us as a sort of chaperone, but I think he would have turned a blind eye if things had developed further between us. I probably would have gone all the way with Phil if he had been so inclined, I would probably even have let him sneak into my bedroom at night if he'd really wanted to, and stuff all the convention about waiting till we were married. But Phil was adamant that we should wait until our wedding night for our first time, so I decided that I had to respect that and try not to make things too difficult for him. I realised that it was a matter of honour for him, because my family clearly thought that he was some kind of a Lothario who had seduced their innocent young daughter, and so he resolved to be nothing like that to prove that he was a respectable man.

Other than in the bedroom though, in a lot of ways it was as if we were already married, so there wouldn't be too many surprises in store for us when we finally tied the knot. I knew what foods were his favourites, and which foods gave him indigestion. I already did all the washing, so I knew that he favoured boxers over Y fronts. I knew he only ever wore pyjama bottoms and not tops. I knew he was fastidiously clean - he used the old shower over the bath every day, much to Uncle Dick's disbelief – he had a bath once a week, 'whether he needed it or not'. When I changed the bedding in Phil's room, I confess that I had a sneaky look around, I couldn't help myself. Phil was tidy, but then he didn't have very many possessions, so it was pretty easy for him to keep everything in its place. He had a framed picture of his parents taken a few years ago standing on his chest of drawers. They looked to have been a very nice couple, happily smiling in the picture, and I could see that he had inherited his mother's blonde hair rather than his father's dark locks. He had recently added a snap shot of me that he'd insisted I let him take – that one he kept on his bedside table. His wardrobe was not exactly bulging; he had just two suits, the one that he'd been wearing when he'd proposed, and a black one that he called his 'funeral' suit. Hopefully his budget would stretch to allow him to buy a new one for our wedding.

For his part, Phil had seen the washing out on the line, so had no doubt noticed that my undies were all of the plain white variety – my mother had always insisted that it was 'common' to wear any other colour, and I hadn't got round to splashing out on anything more colourful as yet. He was familiar with my big thick dressing gown that I wore to the bathroom in the mornings – it helped keep me warm in the cold winter months when the farmhouse could be very chilly and draughty. He knew that I liked to listen to the radio, and that I liked Cliff Richard and Acker Bilk. He also looked on with some amusement at how I had given all the hens their own pet names, telling me that I was being too sentimental for my own good , and that I'd be upset when the time came for them to be killed. I knew he was probably right, but I couldn't help it, each hen had her own personality to me.

And so we muddled along in our state of limbo for the next few months. We kissed, we cuddled, and we groped, but we never went any further, always saying good night and then making our way to our own separate bedrooms, both lying there feeling the frustration, but also the frisson of excitement at what was to come - because sometimes anticipation can be the purest form of pleasure.

**xXx**

One of the things that I needed to do was to learn to drive. Phil had offered to teach me in Uncle Dick's old pick up truck, and I gratefully accepted his offer. He insisted on first explaining to me all the basics of how a car engine worked, so that I would understand why I needed to change gear, how the clutch worked, why the accelerator increased speed, all that kind of thing. I was impatient to just get going, and didn't really see the point, but actually, once he started showing me and talked me through it in his usual patient and thorough manner, it all made much more sense, and I could see that he'd been right to start off this way.

"You'd have made a really good teacher, Phil. Did you ever think of doing anything other than farming?" I asked him.

"Didn't have any choice really. My dad needed help on the farm, we couldn't afford to pay anyone, so that was my only career option. I'd always helped out anyway, so as soon as I left school I joined him on the farm full time," he explained.

"Were you very upset at having to sell the farm, when your dad died?" I asked him.

"I most certainly was. I told dad not to take out a loan for the new tractor and other equipment he thought we needed, but he went ahead anyway, thought he knew best. Didn't have insurance neither, so when he passed away sudden like, there was the outstanding loan to pay off, and no other way to do it. And of course I only got a fraction back of what he'd paid for the equipment when it was all sold off by the bank, 'depreciation' they put that down to, thieving bastards," he explained bitterley. He must have expected to inherit the farm one day; so it had been his future that had had to be sold.

"Life can certainly be a bitch sometimes, can't it?" I sympathised.

"Yes it can – but the up side of it all is that I probably wouldn't have met you, if I hadn't had to take work on Dick's farm, would I? So somehow that makes everything seem worthwhile, maybe there was a point to it after all," he told me, as he leant down to kiss me. "Every cloud has a silver lining, as they say."

"It certainly does," I agreed, as I happily returned his kiss.

So we started going out for driving lessons a couple of times a week. I'd mastered the basics of all the controls and how to change gear etc around the farm, so now we went out on the roads for me to build up my traffic skills ready to take my driving test. I rather enjoyed it and was looking forward to the freedom it would give me when I could drive out on my own. Phil asked me why I hadn't learnt before and I explained that my mother did not approve of young ladies driving themselves. No doubt she would have had hysterics if she'd seen me happily driving the old tractor around the farm as I did now. In her opinion, ladies should be ferried around by suitable young men, the kind that opened doors and then helped them out. I simply couldn't see the point of that – why just sit there and wait for the door to be opened for you, when you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself?

"And were you? Ferried around by suitable young men in London I mean? Did you have many boyfriends there?" he asked me curiously.

"There were a few that my mother tried to set me up with. But they seemed rather shocked by me at times. I'll never forget one young chap who took me out one evening – Henry Fortesque, I think his name was – seemed particularly upset when I shouted out '_Oh_ _bollocks_' when I split my drink at some posh restaurant he'd taken me to," I recounted.

Phil burst out laughing at this.

"That's my girl! Well I don't mind, feel free to have a good '_bollocks'_ whenever the urge takes you, I promise I won't be so easily offended," Phil told me as he hugged me. I'd driven us up on to the moor, to the middle of nowhere – my driving lessons meant that we got the chance for some time to ourselves away from the farm, where we were always conscious of the fact that Uncle Dick was never far away and could walk in on us if we were having a romantic clinch. So of course now that we were finally on our own, we took the opportunity for a bit of kissing and canoodling.

We kissed passionately, and I slipped my hand inside his jacket, and then inside his shirt, so that I could explore his lovely warm skin and the soft hairs on his chest. I slid down in the seat and pulled Phil down to me as we carried on kissing, and I could feel exciting sensations stirring deep within me, as he ran his hands over my hips, up to my waist and then under my jumper towards my breasts, where I ached for him to touch me…but then he stopped himself, as he always did.

"Oh Joan, this is so hard, I really want to wait till we're married, but you're so damned sexy and tempting, you know that don't you?" he told me breathlessly.

"I know my darling, but it's not too long to wait now, is it?" I told him, as we reluctantly sat up to cool things down between us. As we straightened our clothes, I noticed Phil trying to subtly fiddle with his crotch area.

"Why _do_ you men do that? Just what exactly _is_ it that you're doing?" I asked curiously, nodding towards the area in question. I'd often seen other men doing the same thing, but never quite understood what it was that they needed to do so urgently. Now I had the perfect person to answer all my questions like this, because he never seemed to mind what I asked. I would certainly never have dreamt of asking my father or my brother such a question.

"Sorting out my manly bits, my tackle, if you must know," he explained, smiling at my question, not at all fazed.

"Why? Why does it need sorting out?" I probed further.

"It's all your fault actually. You do know don't you, that when a man gets excited by a woman, there are certain changes that take place to a man's…umm…anatomy, shall we say?"

"Yes, I understand the principals of it all," I assured him. You couldn't work on a farm and not understand the mechanics of what went where and how, I wasn't that ignorant.

"OK, well when that happens, everything down there gets tangled up and uncomfortable and needs sorting out. Sometimes though, it all just gets tangled up anyway and needs a good rummage to put it back how it should be. Bloody uncomfortable if you don't, so it has to be done I'm afraid, but we do try not to be too obvious about it when there are ladies present. Of course it's not so bad when it's just a group of us blokes because we all understand," he explained further.

I loved that Phil and I could talk like this, and now I understood the problem, it all made perfect sense, and I wasn't at all shocked or offended. Just like the car engine, he really was very good at explaining things.

"Ah right, must be a ruddy nuisance at times for you men, with all those dangly bits getting in the way," I sympathised with him.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't want to be without my dangly bits, especially on our wedding night, when I'm really looking forward to demonstrating their advantages to you," he told me, with a wicked grin on his face.

**xXx**

I think Phil was almost disappointed when I passed my driving test and we didn't have an excuse to go out by ourselves for the afternoon for a bit of canoodling. However, we consoled ourselves with the thought that before too long we would be able to canoodle as much as we wanted.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of ****Buffalo**** Pictures. I own nothing except my over active imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 6**

Phil and I had had a a very important conversation one afternoon when we'd stopped for a break during a driving lesson.

"Look before we get married, I think you ought to know that I really want to have a family. It's something that's very important to me, so if you don't then we'll just have to call things off," I'd blurted out, having worried about how to broach the subject with him and finally deciding it was best if I just came straight out with it.

He'd laughed at me.

"Of course I want kids, lots of them actually," he'd agreed happily. "But maybe we could have a year or two to ourselves first before we start popping them out?"

"That's just what I thought too," I'd smiled delightedly at him, relieved that we felt the same way about something so important.

So we went ahead and booked the wedding at St Roger's Church for the earliest possible date after my twenty first birthday, which was Saturday 16th June 1962, with a simple reception at the pub to follow booked too. Uncle Dick was going to give me away, and also insisted on footing the bill for our wedding.

"Seeing as that stupid brother of mine is being such a complete arse, I think the responsibly falls to me. Only seems right, seeing as you met young Phil while you were down here helping me out," was his argument.

All the same I felt very guilty, and kept the costs as low as possible, which wasn't too much of a problem because we really didn't want anything fancy in any case.

As our wedding day approached, I made a visit to Doctor Sim, the village GP, to register with him and make an appointment for a consultation. Being a fit and healthy young woman, I hadn't needed a doctor before, so hadn't got round to registering yet. The surgery was located on the outskirts of the village, in a pretty little cottage that overlooked the harbour, with a rather steep walk up one of Cornwall's inevitable hills to reach it.

As I sat in the window seat of the reception area to fill out the necessary forms, I enjoyed a nice cup of tea and a biscuit provided by the receptionist.

"Our Doc is very keen on patient care at his surgery, he thinks it's very important to provide plenty of tea, coffee and nice biscuits for all his patients , so you'll find the kettle's always on whenever you pop in," she told me proudly.

She was a rather pretty young blonde girl who introduced herself as Lorna, and she explained to me that there wasn't really an appointment system as such, you just turned up whenever you needed to, and then Doc Jim would see you when he could.

"It's a really great system, cos it means that while you're waiting you get a chance to have a nice chat, catch up on all the latest gossip and so on," she explained, nodding her head at the various groups of people sitting around the crowded waiting room, chatting and drinking tea. It seemed more like a social club than a surgery.

"Oh, are they all waiting to see the doctor? Maybe I should come back another time?" I suggested, thinking I'd be ages waiting my turn.

"Oh no, don't you worry, you won't have long to wait, old Mrs Pashley's in with him now, but she won't be too much longer cos she's only come about her lumbago, then it'll be you to go in next. The others here were just passing by and popped in for a cuppa, just to be friendly like," she explained.

"Ah right," I said, thinking how different it all was to the highly efficient but distinctly unfriendly surgery I'd gone to in London.

"And you must be Joan, old Dick Ellingham's niece, her that's come down from town and bagged our dishy Phil eh? He's quite a catch that one, to be honest I'm surprised someone local hasn't snapped him up before, good looking fella like that," she told me, staring at me as if she was trying to decide if I was good enough for Phil, whom she clearly regarded as one of Cornwall's most eligible men.

"Yes, that's right I'm Joan Ellingham," I replied, slightly taken aback. I was still getting used to the fact that down here everyone knew everyone else's business.

"So, what you here for then?" she asked loudly. The whole waiting room went quiet now, listening for my reply.

"Oh just a check up," I answered vaguely, understanding enough of how village gossip worked to know that if I told her to mind her own business, that would be interpreted as my having something very embarrassing.

Luckily, just then the surgery door opened, and the man I assumed to be Doctor James Sim held it open for an elderly lady, presumably Mrs Pashley, to make her way out as she carried an empty cup and saucer.

"Well thanks for that Doc. Just what I needed, a nice chat to cheer me up," she told him, as she patted his arm.

"Any time, Iris, and thanks for the pasty, I'll have that for my supper tonight."

"Oh you're welcome, my home made pasties have won prizes you know," the old biddy told him proudly, as she slowly wandered over to her friends in the corner of the waiting room for a bit more gossiping, and no doubt another cup of tea.

"Can I have another cuppa please Lorna, and one of those nice jammie dodgers if you'd be so kind?" Doctor Sim called over to his receptionist as he shot her a big smile. Then he noticed me.

"Oh, hello, you're a new face around here aren't you? Wait a minute...don't tell me... let me guess... I know, you must be Joan Ellingham, engaged to Phil Norton – I'm right aren't I?"

"Err, yes, that's right, I'm Joan," I confirmed.

"Want to come through then?" he offered, as June handed him his tea and biscuit. I could hear the mutterings of gossip as I went over.

'_Do you reckon she's…you know? Why else would she be here when she looks the picture of health?'_

_'Looks positively blooming, if you know what I'm saying.'_

'_Couldn't really blame her, he's a right tasty fella that Phil, and what with them both living up there on Dicks' farm...'_

I ignored them all as I went into the surgery and firmly closed the door behind me.

Doctor James Sim was a few years older than me, and was a very scruffy, untidy man with a very scruffy untidy surgery. He slouched back in his chair as he bit into his biscuit, crumbs scattering down the front of his grubby shirt, which was struggling to cover his rather large paunch. He was wearing a tie, but it was loosened and the top button of his shirt was undone.

"So, how's life going up on the farm then? How's old Richard, still as cranky as ever?" he asked, as he now sipped his tea.

"He's OK, been rather down since his wife died of course, and he's not as young as he was so that's why I came down, to help him out," I explained, watching fascinated as he poured some of his tea into the saucer, blew on it and then slurped at it.

"Too bloody hot to drink, needs to cool down," he explained, seeing the direction of my gaze.

"Yes, of course," I replied, not quite able to believe that this slob of a man was actually a doctor. Shoving the last bit of biscuit in his mouth, and then wiping his hands on his trousers, he finally got round to asking me,

"So what can I do for you today then Joan?"

"Well, Doctor Sim…" I began.

"Please, I prefer Jim, or Doc Jim if you must, a bit less formal isn't it?" he interrupted me with a smile.

"Right, well, Doc Jim, the thing is, I'm getting married soon, and I was wondering about the possibility of my taking this new contraceptive pill that's been in the news," I explained rather nervously.

Women who wished to have oral contraception would now be able to get it on the National Health Service, it had recently been announced by Enoch Powell, the Health Minister.

I felt rather uncomfortable discussing such matters with this doctor, who was so unlike any other doctor I'd ever met, but as he was the only one in the village, I really didn't have any choice.

"Ah right I see, getting ready for the off, so to speak eh?" Doc Jim gave me a sly wink as he said this. "That is unless, you've already…?"

"No! Err…Phil wants, that is we both want to wait until we're married before we…go ahead," I explained.

"Very commendable I'm sure Joan, but you'll find I'm no prude, so it wouldn't worry me if you two love birds had got carried away in the heat of the moment. Believe me, I know only too well just how hard it can be," he informed me with another wink.

I had heard a few rumours about Doctor Sim and Lorna the receptionist, but looking at this balding, paunchy, and rather grubby man, I found it hard to see what on earth the attraction would be for her, or any other woman come to that. But then there was no accounting for personal taste. Nowt so queer as folk, as they say.

"So tell me Joan, are you two planning to have a family at some point in the not too distant future, once you're married?" he queried.

"Well, yes, we thought we'd wait for a year or two, but we definitely want a family one day," I answered.

"Then I really wouldn't recommend the pill for you. Messing about with your hormones, when no one really knows the long term effects is ill advised in my opinion, and there are quite a few other well regarded doctors of the same opinion. So, how would your young man feel about using Johnnies instead?" he asked, staring at me.

"Johnny's what?" I looked at him in bewilderment, because I hadn't got a clue what he was talking about.

"A Johnny. A French letter. A condom. Take your pick, they all mean the same thing, a barrier that a man puts on his... " he started to explain.

"Oh right, yes, yes, of course, one of those," I interrupted hastily.

"I… err…don't really know to be honest," I admitted. I hadn't even told Phil about my appointment today, deciding that I would get all the facts about contraceptive choices first before discussing it with him, not wanting to seem a complete ignoramus.

"Hmm, I see. Well a lot of young men start off promising to use them, then give up because they find it spoils sex for them - allows less sensation, slows things down etc, and so before you know it there's an unwelcome bun in the oven. So I'd recommend a diaphragm or Dutch cap for you to use, then it's all totally in your control. Once inserted properly, it provides good reliable protection," he explained.

I actually had no idea what on earth one of those was, but it sounded like a good idea.

"Righty ho, I'll go for that then," I agreed brightly.

"Well, you'll have to go to the new Family Planning Clinic over at Truro hospital for that, because I don't fit them here at my surgery. Bit specialised you see, best done by them there, they're the experts in that field. I've got some of their cards here somewhere."

After rummaging through every drawer of his messy desk, he finally handed me a rather crumpled up card.

"There we are, just give them a quick tinkle to make an appointment, then you'll be all set for the big night, won't you Joan? But if in the mean time you feel you need some advice - you know, all the things your mother _should_ have told you, but didn't, or if you have any questions at all pertaining to sexual matters, please feel free to ask me, I can fill in all the gaps for you, no need to be embarrassed about it. And you'll find me pretty well informed and very liberal minded…

"Thanks, but I don't think I need trouble you any further Doctor Sim, not if I'm going to the clinic anyway, they're the experts as you so rightly said," I hurriedly told him as I stood up to leave. No way was I going to discuss anything like that with him, however ignorant I was.

"Ok then Joan, nice to have met you, and send my regards to Phil won't you? Oh, and on your way out, could you ask Lorna to bring me a fresh cuppa and a bourbon biscuit this time?"

**xXx**

The very nice young female doctor at the Family Planning Clinic, appropriately called Doctor Young, was lovely, and I felt much more comfortable talking things through with her than I had with Doctor Sim.

"There really is no reason for you not to go on the pill. To be honest I think your GP is being rather conservative and over cautious," she advised me.

But a doubt had been put in my mind because I really didn't want to risk anything affecting my ability to get pregnant when the time was right.

"Well I think I would be happier sticking with something tried and tested actually," I explained.

"OK, it's up to you of course. So I'll quickly run through with you how to use a diaphragm, then we'll get you fitted up," she smiled at me.

Half an hour later I left with my new contraceptive device, having been instructed to practice inserting it before I actually needed to use it for real. I had also come away with several booklets and leaflets to read through that she clearly felt I was in need of. Doctor Young, just like Doctor Sim, had soon worked out that I was really pretty ignorant in the marital relations department, and she clearly felt that it was her duty to try to ensure that I was properly prepared for my wedding night. Of course both she and Doctor Sim were quite right, my mother had not seen fit to enlighten me in these matters in any way at all, my scanty knowledge had been gleaned from school yard gossip and magazines really. And seeing as how my mother and I were no longer on speaking terms, there was little chance of her providing me with any useful hints or tips to ease me into our marital bed. But in any case I guessed that my mother was most probably from the 'Lie back and think of England' school of sexual education, and that was certainly not how I intended to approach my married life.

**xXx**

It had all seemed pretty straight forward when I'd been shown how to use this diaphragm device thing at the clinic. Apply cream here, squeeze the sides together like this, carefully insert, check it was in position correctly and hey presto, there you were, all ready for action.

I'd locked myself in the bathroom one evening to try it out and practice, just as Doctor Young had advised me to do. Bloody stupid thing, once the special cream was applied, it was so slippery that each time I tried to do anything with it, it just pinged out of my hand and flew across the room. I persevered though, determined to master the ruddy thing because I wanted to ensure that everything was going to be perfect for our long awaited and eagerly anticipated wedding night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of****Buffalo****Pictures. I own nothing except my over active imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 7**

Phil was a member of the Portwenn cricket team, as were most of the young men in the village. Thursday evening was practice night and it was always, without fail, followed by a drinking session in the pub. On the Thursday evening before our wedding, Phil set off as usual, picked up this week by his best friend Ted Nugent, who was going to be his best man. They took Uncle Dick along with them too, and I think he was really looking forward to his evening out with the lads. It seemed to have been decided unanimously that in view of Phil's impending nuptials, this week they would skip the practice session and just head straight for the pub to get down to the serious business of marking the end of Phil's bachelor status. Luckily the usual Sunday cricket match on the green would not be disrupted too much by our wedding on Saturday, and they would manage just fine without Phil for this week while he was away on his honeymoon, even if he was their best bowler.

"We're going to give him a bit of a send-off this evening as it's his last week as a single man, before he ties the knot like. But don't you worry my love, I'll look after him and make sure he gets back safe and sound so as he'll be just fine for the wedding," Ted assured me. Phil would be spending the night before our wedding at Ted's house, because of course everyone knew that it would be very bad luck if we were to see each other on the morning of our wedding.

"Have a good time, but don't get too pickled, we've still got a farm to run tomorrow," I warned them as they set off. I really didn't mind him going out at all, Phil always worked very hard, so it was good for him to let his hair down once in a while. And as Ted had said – this was to be his last chance as a single man.

"Don't worry, I'll just have my usual couple of pints, I've no intention of getting drunk, so I expect I'll be back around the usual time," Phil promised as they left. He usually returned around 10:30 pm from the Thursday night sessions.

So I happily spent a productive evening, cooking up some extra meals and soups for Uncle Dick to have while we were away on our honeymoon – we were going for a long weekend to a B & B in Newquay - not too far away, but far enough to feel that we were actually on holiday.

When it got to 11:00 pm, I decided that I might as well go to bed. I wasn't too worried – they were all grown men after all, and Ted had promised to look after Phil.

I was awoken in the early hours of the morning by the sound of the front door slamming, and men's voices.

"Ssssh! You sshhouldn't have sshhlammed it, I told you we 'ad to be quiet, didn't I?" I recognised Ted's slurred voice.

"Come on lads, easy does it, let's get him inside now," said a voice that I didn't immediately recognise.

"No, mustn't wake my luvverlly Joan, she'll be asshhleep, and I don't want to make her crosshh, cos I really do love her you know," hiccupped my Phil.

"Yea, we know, you've been telling us that all bloody evening," Ted replied, giggling and guffawing.

"That's right, all evening long son, so yea, we do know how much you love her," echoed Uncle Dick, now giggling too.

I could stand it no more, I had to go and see what was going on, so I got up, put my dressing gown on and marched downstairs.

I was met by the sight of PC Cyril Metcalfe, the local village bobby, holding up Phil and trying to manoeuvre him through the house, supposedly being helped but actually being hindered by Ted and Uncle Dick. Clearly all three men were all completely smashed.

"What on earth…?" I stuttered.

"Joan! Oh my daarrrling Joan, I love you, I love you sshho much…" Phil lurched towards me as he saw me, and almost fell on top of me. I nearly passed out from the alcoholic fumes that hit me, especially when he belched very loudly. Luckily PC Metcalfe still had hold of him and managed to keep him upright.

"Upsy daisy, there we go, steady on lover boy," he said, as he managed to guide him onto the settee.

"Philip Norton, you are completely sloshed!" I scolded him, as Ted and Uncle Dick collapsed into a fit of giggles at my reaction, like a pair of naughty school boys.

"Don' be angry wiv me Joan, I'm not really drunk, cos I only 'ad a couple. Come here and give me a kisshh eh?" Phil held out his arms and puckered up his lips, as he closed his eyes.

"He may 'ave only 'ad a couple of pints, but he didn't know wot else was in 'em did he?" chortled Ted. Clearly the lads had doctored his drinks.

"Very funny Ted. Thought you were meant to be looking after him?" I turned to look accusingly at Ted and Uncle Dick.

"Aw, don't be like that, it's just a bit of harmless fun," Uncle Dick protested.

"Yea, don't get yer knickers in a twist," Ted joined in, collapsing in giggles again.

"So how come the long arm of the law has got involved then?" I demanded to know, looking at PC Metcalfe for a coherent explanation.

"I was out on my rounds when I came across them still in the pub well after last orders. They reckoned they were having a lock in with the Landlord, but I decided that they'd had enough and that it was about time they made their way back home. Course none of them were in a fit state to drive, so I brought them back here in the police van. I could have arrested them on a whole string of charges; but seeing as our young Phil here is about to get married, I decided to use my discretion and turn a blind eye this time. No real harm done," he explained to me.

"That's very decent of you, thanks," I replied gratefully.

"Joan, my bootiful sshhexy Joan, I love you sshho much. An…an you know what? You got the best pair o' tits I've ever seen, tremendous they are…" Phil slurred at me, with a silly smirch across his face.

"Phil! For goodness sake!" I exclaimed, highly embarrassed.

"Wot? Only telling the truth, aren't I? And a right sshhexy arse you got too, you're really…_womanly_ Joan, and once we're wed, I can't wait to…" Phil was now attempting to make certain gestures with his arm to indicate just exactly what he had in mind.

"Philip Norton, will you just shut up and be quiet!" I bellowed at him, mortified. I could feel myself blushing in front of the policeman, as Ted collapsed laughing again.

"Certainly champing at the bit in't he, eh love? Been going on all evening 'bout you and your…erm…_attributes _ shall we say," Ted chortled, finding it all highly amusing.

Even PC Metcalfe couldn't help himself, he was sniggering too, clearly highly amused to see such out of character behaviour from Phil, who never normally spoke in such a crude way, but the alcohol had certainly loosened his tongue tonight, much to my chagrin.

"So, do you want a hand to get lover boy here upstairs?" PC Metcalfe offered, looking at Phil who was lying crashed out on the settee, thankfully only muttering under his breath now.

"No, I think he might as well just crash there for the night, but maybe you could give my Uncle a hand to get upstairs?" I suggested.

"I don't need any help, I'm not drunk at all," Uncle Dick piped up rather offended, but his innocence of the accusations was belied by the fact that he was swaying on his feet.

"Come on then Dick, I'll just make sure you get up them stairs before I run Ted home," PC Metcalfe said, as he firmly guided Uncle Dick towards the staircase, raising his eyebrows as he smiled over at me.

Before PC Metcalfe left to take Ted home, I found my self apologising to him.

"I am so sorry your time has been wasted, Phil's not normally like this at all," I assured him.

"Oh don't worry, I know Phil's a decent young man, it's just the booze talking, and believe me I've seen and heard far worse. On my stag night, my so-called mates from the force left me handcuffed to a railing near Lands End – half naked. I'll let you guess which half was naked - good job I was wearing a shirt long enough to cover me dignity is all I'm saying about that. Bloody freezing it was too, and they didn't come to get me until half way through the following morning neither cos they was so hung over. So I wouldn't worry too much about me laddo here in his cups letting his tongue run away with him. I don't expect he'll recall any of this in the morning," PC Metcalfe said, as he now guided Ted towards the door.

"Hehe, but _we're_ not gonna forget wot he said," Ted chimed in, ignoring the black look I gave him as he left.

I went and got a blanket to put over Phil on the settee, and then removed his shoes, leaning over to cover him up as he lay there now snoring gently, when he suddenly revived and opened his eyes.

"Oh Joan, my gorgeousshh sshhexy Joan, come 'ere, cosshh I love you..." he mumbled as he grabbed me, and pulled me down to try to kiss me. Luckily the alcohol overcame him once more, and he dropped back onto the settee again to start gently snoring. I managed to extricate myself from his grip and then left him to it as I made my way back up to my bed.

**xXx**

I took great pleasure the next morning in clattering around in the kitchen as I prepared the usual cooked breakfast at the usual time of 7:00 am. I looked up to see Phil standing very sheepishly in the kitchen doorway, looking decidedly worse for wear – his eyes were blood shot, he needed a shave, and he looked terrible. I'd already looked in on Uncle Dick on my way down – he was still fast asleep, and probably would be for some time to come by the looks of him.

"Alka seltzer tablets and a glass of water on the table," I told him, pointing to them, as I vigorously scraped the pan of scrambled eggs I was making, and I saw Phil wince at the noise. He sat down at the table without a word, and then held his head in his hands.

"Don't expect any sympathy from me, not when it's self inflicted," I warned him.

"Wasn't my fault. They must've put something in my pint of beer," he managed to croak out.

"Hmm. More fool you for not noticing then eh?"

However, I decided that how he felt this morning was punishment enough for the poor man, and maybe it would teach him not to trust his so called 'mates' in quite the same way again. And at least he had time to recover before our wedding on Saturday.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of ****Buffalo****Pictures. I own nothing except my over active imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 8**

Our wedding day finally arrived. We'd sent an invitation to my parents and to my brother, but had received no response from them at all, just as I had expected. Uncle Dick tried to defend my brother Christopher, saying that he wasn't really such a bad young chap, that he was being unduly influenced by his father and that was why he wasn't coming to our wedding - for some reason Uncle Dick had always had a soft spot for Christopher, he could never do any wrong in his eyes. Maybe it was because he had never had a son of his own and my brother was the closest thing to one that he had. But in any case it didn't worry me that none of my family were coming. 'Sod them' I thought.

I wasn't having any bridesmaids. Although I was beginning to get to know a few other ladies among the neighbours and villagers, there wasn't anyone that I felt I knew well enough to ask, and it suited us to keep things simple in any case.

Phil knew just about everyone in the village and the surrounding area, having lived there all his life, and he was a very popular man, as had been his father. They had always helped out any neighbour in need – and now several of them were pitching in to return the favour by helping out Uncle Dick on the farm while Phil and I were away for few days for our honeymoon. That was another thing that I loved about living in Cornwall, the sense of community, with everyone helping each other in times of need, unlike London where I'd hardly known who was even living in the house next door.

As arranged, Phil had gone to stay at Ted's house the night before our wedding.

"So the next time I'll see you will be at the church," I told him as we kissed goodbye. "You are going to turn up aren't you? You're not going to get so drunk with Ted that you forget what day it is?"

"No! Of course not. Look, I've been waiting for this day for months and months, I'm hardly going to take the chance of anything spoiling it or going wrong, am I? The other night was different, and it was the last time I'll ever do anything like that again," he promised me, and I knew he meant it.

"Hmm, well, just don't let Ted take you for a last minute drink," I warned him, as I gave him a long lingering kiss and moved my body up very close against his, as a non too subtle hint of what he would be missing if he did. Phil held me tighter still, as he gulped and whispered in my ear,

"I won't be taking any chance whatsoever of missing our wedding night, I can assure you of that."

With that we reluctantly broke apart, and Phil left for Ted's place.

**xXx**

I walked down the aisle on Uncle Dick's arm in my simple lace gown, which had a low cut square neckline, and was fitted under the bust before flaring slightly and then falling to the floor. I had flowers in my hair to match my simple bouquet of roses, rather than a veil which I had found to be too fussy for my taste when I'd tried some on. And I didn't feel nervous at all, much to my surprise. I held my head up high, and looked around the pretty church, filled with folk from the village. I saw Phil waiting for me at the front of the church, dressed in his smart new navy blue suit, complete with new shirt and tie, and with his blonde hair smartly combed back – he'd been determined that everything would be perfect today, and I thought he looked so very handsome as he turned to look at me, an excited smile on his face.

Much of the service passed in a blur, but little snapshots stayed in my mind.

The perfume from the roses in my bouquet. Thinking that Phil's middle name of Michael would be a nice name for a son. Noticing how blue Phil's eyes were when he looked at me as he repeated his vows in his deep voice. My voice sounding high pitched to me when I said 'I do' and 'I will'. Uncle Dick's hand shaking as he gave me away. Phil struggling to get the wedding ring on my finger. How loud the organ was as it played the music for my favourite hymn 'Love divine, all loves excelling'. Phil having to help me up when my shoe got caught in the lace edge of my wedding dress after we'd been kneeling in front of the vicar. Signing the register and realising that it was all official now. Walking back down the aisle passing lots of smiling faces, and then standing in the arched doorway as the peal of church bells rang out. Everyone throwing confetti over us. Lots and lots of photos being taken.

Then finally sitting alone together in the car that was taking us to our reception at the pub.

We turned to look at each other, face to face.

"We've only gone and done it. We've only gone and got married," I whispered, as I smiled at Phil happily.

"I know. Crazy isn't it?" he smiled back, and then reached over to kiss me very tenderly.

"I'm glad you turned up," I told him.

"I'm glad you turned up too. You look beautiful, you know," he told me, as he gazed at me.

"You don't scrub up too badly yourself either," I replied, as I touched his smooth, freshly shaved cheek.

It was only a short drive down to the village, so our quiet few moments together soon passed, and then we were thrown into the hub bub of our reception.

It was only a simple buffet affair, but everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. Phil was anxious for the wedding speeches to be over and done with so that he could relax a bit, so Ted, as his best man, got on with things, and soon everything had been done and said as it should be, and then the wedding cake was cut.

Luckily it was a gorgeous summer afternoon, and everyone wandered around in the gardens of the pub as well as inside, relaxing and enjoying themselves. Phil knew who everyone was even if I didn't, and we tried to make sure we talked to everyone, circulated round, and didn't leave anyone out. There were a couple of the wives of his cricket club friends that I'd met a few times now and who seemed very friendly and nice. They said that I should go along to the next Women's Institute meeting with them, that it needed a bit of fresh blood to liven things up. Their names were Muriel Steel and Helen Pratt. I said I'd love to.

By early evening the music started. We'd hired the same local band that had played at the Christmas dance. I realised now that this band did all the local dances and events, always playing exactly the same music numbers – at least it meant that everyone knew what to expect. We had the first dance together, and Phil managed to shuffle around and not disgrace himself by stepping on my dress. He whispered in my ear as we danced,

"How long do we have to stay? When do you think it'll be OK for us to leave?" he wanted to know.

"I don't know. There's no rush is there?" I said, knowing full well just why he was so impatient to get away.

"Don't be such a tease Joan. You know I can hardly wait…" he whispered, and then he started kissing me.

Of course then all the lads from the cricket club started wolf whistling and cheering us.

"Go on my son, get stuck in," Ted shouted out very loudly, having had a couple of drinks now that the speeches were done and dusted.

Phil glared at him to shut up, as other couples now joined us on the tiny dance floor.

Finally, after I had gone off and changed out of my wedding dress into a more casual 'going away' outfit, we thought it would be ok for us to quietly sneak off as everyone was busy having a good time - but it was not to be.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, can I have your attention please, the happy couple are about to leave," Ted announced loudly via the band's microphone. So everyone followed us outside, to where Phil had left the trusty old pick up truck that we were using to get us to Newquay. But it didn't look quite the same as usual. There was a huge 'Just Married' sign stuck on the back, and lots of tin cans had been tied onto the back bumper by long strings. Balloons were tied to the door handles, and slightly obscene phrases had been written in lipstick over the paintwork.

As we walked over to the truck, Phil's mates were slapping him on the back, making various bawdy comments and arm gestures. Their Cornish accents always seemed to deepen with the amount of alcohol they consumed it seemed to me, and clearly they had had more than a few bevies this evening. Phil, however, had made absolutely certain that he had not touched so much as a drop.

'_Crackin' bit o' skirt yer got yerself there Phil'_

'_Make sure yer give 'er a good seeing to won't yer?'_

''_Ope yer got plenty o' lead in yer pencil tonight eh?'_

These were just a few of the ribald comments that were being bandied about.

"Maybe it's just as well your family aren't here, all things considered," Phil told me wryly, as he tried to usher me into the truck as quickly as possible, to minimise my exposure to their vulgar banter. But I just laughed it off, there really wasn't any harm in it, but he was right – my mother would have choked on her champagne by now, that was for sure.

Uncle Dick came over to say goodbye to us before we left.

"You take care and have a good time on your honeymoon," he told me emotionally, as he gave me a kiss on my cheek. And then I saw him have a quiet word in Phil's ear, and Phil nod seriously and then shake the old boy's hand.

"What was that all about?" I asked Phil curiously.

"Just men's talk, that's all," he answered me evasively.

I decided I would find out more about it later, but that now was not the time, because as we opened the truck door, confetti flew out at us – it had been stuffed everywhere that it possibly could be inside the truck. I had no doubt we would be finding it for weeks to come. Finally we managed to drive off, with everyone waving and cheering at us, the tin cans clattering along behind us making a terrible racket. Once we had safely driven out of the village, Phil pulled over for us to untie the trailing cans and the balloons. It took quite a while because the knots had been tied very tight, but we eventually managed it.

We drove along a bit further, but then we were assailed by a terrible fishy smell, nothing like the usual country side smells that we were used to.

"What on earth is that?" I asked Phil, as I held a hankie over my nose.

He pulled over again, got out of the truck and raised the bonnet to check the engine. He soon re-appeared - with a kipper in his hand.

"Look what those buggers put on the exhaust manifold," he said, as he held up the offending item by its tail to show me.

"_Yuk,_ just chuck it away, it's foul," I urged him, and watched as he tossed it over the fence into a field, where no doubt some hungry scavenging fox would devour it.

"Right, maybe now that'll be it, and we can get going," Phil grumbled. Clearly his patience was beginning to wear a bit thin.

We finally made it to our B & B in Newquay with no further delays, and proudly checked in as Mr. and Mrs. Norton. We made our way upstairs, and Phil put the key in the bedroom door to unlock it, but then stopped me from going in.

"Come on Mrs Norton, let's do things properly shall we?"

He effortlessly lifted me up and carried me over the threshold as I laughed and put my arms around his neck. Inside the room, he still held me in his arms and started kissing me, and as I returned his kiss I tightened my hold around his neck.

We were disturbed by the B & B owner discreetly coughing behind us as he carried in our bags, and Phil reluctantly put me down.

"I'll just put your cases over here, then I'll leave you to it," he said, as he winked at us and walked out.

"Alone at last," Phil smiled at me.

I felt a rather shy all of a sudden, now that we'd finally made it to our honeymoon bedroom.

"We'd better unpack hadn't we?" I suggested nervously.

Seeing as the cases had been put on the double bed that Phil was keenly eying up, he really had no option but to agree.

My case was locked, so I had to rummage in my handbag to find the key, but Phil hadn't bothered to lock his – however, he soon wished he had, once he opened it up.

"What the bloody hell…?"

His case was stuffed full with confetti and rice, which was now escaping all over the carpet of the bedroom. Not only that, but there were loads of small packets mixed in with all his clothes '_Durex extra fine-for maximum sensation_' read the packaging. They had been stuffed in the pockets of all his clothes, in his underwear – everywhere.

"Those crafty sods! Wait till I see Ted, I'm going to give him a right bollocking…" Phil started to rant. But then he looked over at me, and as we both started giggling, it helped to dispel my nerves about what was to come next.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of ****Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 9**

My nerves meant that my heart was pounding in my ears as I walked back from the bathroom to our bedroom where Phil was waiting for me. My contraceptive device was correctly inserted, and I was wearing my new slinky black negligee under my thick dressing gown. Tonight we could finally let ourselves go, instead of having to hold back as we'd had to for the last six months. I was going to become a proper woman of the world, a member of that exclusive club who had experienced the mystery of 'it'. I'd read all the booklets and leaflets Doctor Young had given me from cover to cover several times over now, and I was as prepared as I could be.

As it was mid June, it was nearly the longest day of the year as the summer solstice approached, and so as I walked into the bedroom, it was just softly lit through the thin curtains that were drawn against the remaining light on this long summer evening.

Phil was sitting on the edge of the bed waiting, wearing just his pyjama bottoms, and he looked like an Adonis to me as he sat there. He had a wonderful muscle bound torso, and I felt a shiver of excitement go through me at the thought of being entwined in those strong arms. I casually slipped off my thick dressing gown and let it drop to the floor to reveal the expensive negligee that I had spent ages choosing. There wasn't much of it, and it was see through, but it covered just enough of my modesty to spare my blushes.

"You look wonderful," Phil whispered huskily as stared at me. He reached out and pulled me to him so that I was standing between his legs as he remained sat on the bed. I ran my hands up his arms and then let them rest on his shoulders. He had lovely warm silky skin, and his broad chest had a soft downy covering of golden hair. His heart was clearly pounding just as much as mine was, as I could see the pulse beating in his neck.

His hands were roaming over my body now, exploring all the curves that he clearly found so enticing.

"Oh Joan, you are _so_ beautiful, you have such a wonderful body," he whispered. He quickly worked out that he only had to pull at two small ties to remove my negligee – and so he did, and then held me at arms length as his eyes hungrily took in everything that he had no doubt been imagining over the past few months. His hands were shaking as he almost reverently cupped and caressed my breasts, as if he couldn't quite believe that he was allowed to touch them.

"They're perfect, just perfect," he murmured, clearly enthralled. Then he pulled me to him and started to kiss me very passionately, and I felt myself tingling with anticipation as I responded to him, raking my fingers through his hair, as our bodies revelled in their close proximity, finally without the hindrance of clothing in the way.

"Oh Joan, I've waited so long for this moment, the moment when I finally get to make love to you," he whispered excitedly, as he urgently pulled me onto the bed with him, quickly discarding his pyjama bottoms, and then pulling the sheet over us both.

Inexperienced as we both were, we fumbled around rather clumsily to position ourselves. He was much bigger than me, so I tried to shuffle around under him to accommodate him between my legs, but then I felt him crushing me until he managed to take his weight on his elbows, allowing me to breathe again. There followed some fervent and frenzied prodding and poking around the area in question, and it made me want to giggle as it put me in mind of a young dog humping a chair leg, not quite sure what it's doing but carrying on because it just can't help itself. I stifled the giggle, not wanting to offend Phil, but then I was caught by surprise as he finally found his target – and duly went for it.

"Ah yes, yes! _Oh YES_!" he yelled out triumphantly, as our marriage was now, without a shadow of a doubt, being properly consummated.

I cried out as my sudden de-flowerment took me by surprise, and then bit my lip to prevent myself from crying out any further. But by now Phil was beyond coherent thought anyway, as he carried on for just a short while longer before groaning loudly, shuddering several times and then finally collapsing on top of me breathlessly. I'd hardly had time to register what was happening, or how it felt, but clearly he had reached the end of his road, and I was a nervous young virgin no more.

I'm sorry to say that my first thought was '_Is that __**it**__? Was __**that**__ what all the fuss is about_?' as I lay there rather bemused. The earth had certainly not moved for me, in fact it had not even trembled in the slightest.

Phil remained there on top of me for a minute or two to recover and catch his breath, then he withdrew and rolled off me. He lay next to me with a huge silly grin on his face, looking very pleased with himself. Then he gathered me up in his arms, as he sighed blissfully and told me,

"Oh Joan, that was fantastic, even better than I'd imagined it would be. I knew it would be good, but …_wow!_ Are you all right though, did I hurt you? How was it for you?" he asked, all concern now.

I quickly reassured him that everything was fine; truthfully it really hadn't been so painful at all.

"Sorry I was a bit quick off the mark, but it'll get even better in time, you'll see. Oh, I'm so glad we waited until our wedding night, it made things really perfect for our first time didn't it? No feeling guilty, no regrets about getting carried away, it makes all those months of waiting worthwhile, although I don't think you have any idea of the affect you have on me, and how difficult it's been for me to hold back. Thank you for making it so wonderful, my darling girl. I love you very much, you do know that, don't you?"

He looked incredibly happy and proud, and it felt wonderful for me to have given him so much pleasure. He was clearly delighted with how everything had gone, and I didn't have the heart to give him any kind of impression that things had been less than perfect for me. So I cuddled up to him, kissed him and told him that I loved him too, and then we lay there in each others arms for a while, just enjoying being in bed together for the first time. Before long he drifted off into a contented sleep, so then I slipped out of bed, put on my big thick dressing gown in case I bumped into another guest outside on the landing, and sneaked off to the bathroom.

I took a moment as I looked in the mirror to reflect on my first sexual experience. Physically, it had been pretty much as I'd expected really, after reading my trusty booklet from the family planning clinic. I'd also known it would probably be rather quick – I just hadn't realised it would be _that_ quick, and I supposed that I'd expected something… something a bit more….well I didn't really know _what_, that was the trouble. But I was hopeful that in time, with practice – of which I was sure there would be plenty, judging by Phil's undoubted enthusiasm – things would improve. So I put my expensive negligee back on, determined to wear it for at least part of the night, and returned to our room to slip back into bed next to Phil, now fast asleep and even snoring a little. Finally I managed to drift off to sleep, on this, my first night as Joan Norton.

**xXx**

When I awoke very early the following morning, curiosity overcame me, as I looked at my new husband still sleeping peacefully next to me. I lifted the cover to peak underneath at his body, and in particular at his dangly bits that we'd joked about, not having had much chance to see anything of him the night before. He hadn't bothered to put his pyjamas back on, so I could gaze freely at him in his flaccid state. But as I did so, he woke up and saw me looking at him.

"Well it's only fair, you wanted to look at me last night didn't you?" I pointed out to him with a cheeky smile.

He grinned back at me, apparently pleased at my lack of shyness, and the fact that I was uninhibited around him.

"I suppose it is, yes," he agreed.

But even as I looked at him, it soon became apparent that he was finding my interest in him arousing – very arousing indeed, and my eyes widened at the dramatic change that was taking place in front of me.

"Now look what you've gone and done," he winked at me. "So… are you up to…you know…going again?"

I smiled my consent at him, then helped as he eagerly fumbled to remove my negligee once more, and I wondered why on earth I had bothered with the wretched thing again.

This time, we had a bit better idea of how to arrange ourselves to smooth things along, and it lasted slightly longer, so I had a little more idea of what was going on, although it was still pretty quick. But that didn't matter to me, as I found that I loved the intimacy and closeness that it brought between us, and giving him such intense pleasure was in itself very satisfying. Afterwards as we lay together holding hands, Phil poured his heart out to me as I looked at his face, so full of love for me.

"That was even more fantastic than the first time, making love to you is heavenly Joan. I'm the luckiest man alive to have married you, to be able to make love to such a gorgeous, beautiful woman. There aren't enough words for me to tell you how wonderful you are and how much I love you. I promise I'll be a good husband to you, and that I'll do everything I can to make you happy and to take care of you," he told me very emotionally.

For someone who had grown up feeling unloved, unwanted and just a nuisance, it was music to my ears, and I knew that I would always be happy to make love with Phil, whether the earth moved for me or not.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of ****Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 10**

On the Sunday morning, before it was time to go down to breakfast,we took it in turns to disappear to the bathroom. Phil went first, returning all freshly washed, shaved and dressed for the day, and then I disappeared to complete my ablutions. Phil stared at me when I returned, dressed in shorts and a little blouse, ready for us to spend the day on the beach after breakfast, as we had planned.

As I busied myself tidying up and putting away my wash bag, Phil came right up close behind me, put his hands around my waist and started kissing and nuzzling my neck.

"Mmm, I remember the first time I saw you in those shorts, that day your bike had a flat tyre and I fixed it for you," he told me as he continued to trail kisses behind my ears.

"Oh yes, I saw you looking at me but I really didn't know what you were thinking," I recalled.

"Just as well, because I think you would have slapped my face if you could have read my mind that day," Phil grinned as he told me, then slid his hands up under my blouse to caress and fondle my breasts through my bra, while continuing to kiss my neck.

"Oh, really?" I said in surprise, having had no clue at the time. But now I was finding it hard to concentrate, as I was being distracted by Phil's actions which were very pleasurable I found, and it was very apparent that Phil was also getting very aroused as I could feel his evident excitement pressing up against me. Suddenly breakfast didn't seem so important, as we both had an appetite for other things now.

"Oh yes, and now that we're safely married, I can demonstrate to you just what it was that I was thinking about," he told me breathlessly, as he turned me round to start fumbling with the buttons on my blouse.

"But Phil, we can't…yet…I've just taken my thingy out," I informed him regretfully, thinking that it was going to take another trip to the bathroom and several minutes of faffing around before I would be ready for action again. Using a diaphragm wasn't very conducive to being spontaneous I was finding out, which was a shame because I rather liked that Phil could be so aroused just by looking at me. I was finding it very flattering and rather exciting to be so desired by my big, handsome, virile husband, and I felt empowered by my sexuality, not scared or embarrassed by it in any way. On the contrary, it made me feel liberated and I decided that I wanted to enjoy it to the full. But of course that meant not getting pregnant just yet, hence the need for the wretched diaphragm.

Phil groaned as he rested his head against my shoulder for a moment in frustration, before his eye alighted on the pile of condom packets from his suitcase that he'd carelessly thrown onto the bedside table yesterday.

"Thank you, oh thank you Ted Nugent, I forgive you everything, you have totally redeemed yourself," Phil chuckled, as he reached over to quickly grab a packet, before we happily continued.

We just made it downstairs in time for breakfast before they stopped serving, trying to ignore all the knowing looks from the other guests. However, that was easier said than done when Phil suddenly sneezed, and as he grabbed his hanky from his trouser pocket, half a dozen Durex packets went shooting across the floor, landing at the feet of the other guests in the room.

**xXx**

We had a lovely day on the beach, and Phil said that he wished he'd thought of taking me to the beach before we were married, as it would have meant that he would have got to see me in my swimsuit, which was the next best thing to seeing me in my undies as far as he was concerned. I laughed as I told him that it wouldn't have helped him in his efforts to keep himself in check before we were married, and he had to agree as he'd had trouble keeping his hands to himself on the beach as it was.

We had an early supper of fish and chips, smothered in lashings of malt vinegar and plenty of salt, eaten with our fingers from the newspaper as we sat on a bench looking out to sea, both agreeing that they were the best fish and chips we had ever tasted.

Then we were in a rush to get ready for the show that I'd treated us to tickets for, because guests weren't allowed back into their rooms at our B & B before 06:00 pm, and we had to be ready to leave by 06:30pm, both needing to bathe to get rid of all the inevitable sand from the beach.

I put on my best frock, the blue stripy one that I'd been wearing when Phil proposed, and I saw Phil staring at me again, in a way that I was beginning to realise meant that he was turned on and feeling frisky.

"Hold that thought, we have to leave now, I really don't want to miss the beginning of the show," I warned him, smiling all the same, and kissing his cheek.

"I don't know what you mean," he protested as we left. But Phil was distracted all evening long, fidgeting restlessly during the show. I'd bought the tickets even though they were quite expensive because Adam Faith was in the line up, and I'd always liked him, and Phil sort of reminded me of him with his thick blonde hair and good looks. Of course I hadn't told him any of this, which was probably just as well, because although I really enjoyed the show and thought Adam Faith was superb, Phil seemed decidedly unimpressed, and couldn't wait to leave at the end.

When we returned to the B & B and made our way into our bedroom, I was taken by surprise as Phil slammed the door closed behind us and then pushed me back against it as he urgently kissed me very hard, and ran his hands up my legs and under my dress to feel my stocking tops, pretty much as he had done the night he had proposed at the Christmas dance.

"Seeing you in this dress again Joan, and remembering the last time I saw you in it meant that I've not been able to think of anything else all evening long, because I've replayed that evening in my mind so many times. But I've been imagining a very different ending, and I wondered if we could…you know …could we try it, please Joan," he implored me, as he virtually tore my underwear down in his frenzy. I was finding it exhilarating and thrilling to be almost ravished by this man who was so aroused by me that he had to have me _now,_ and so I quickly decided that I would trust him and try whatever it was that he had in mind for us.

"OK Phil, but I'm not really sure what it is you want me to do…" I told him breathlessly.

"I want you to hold on to me, and then put your legs around my waist," he instructed, as he undid his trousers, and quickly applied a condom from a packet he snatched from the side. Then he lifted me up as I followed his instructions for us to make love as he wanted us to.

But my dress was getting in the way, the door knob was poking in my back painfully, and Phil couldn't actually move very much as his clothes got in the way too. Regretfully it soon became apparent that what was possible in dreams and fantasies sadly wasn't always possible in reality.

So we decided to cut our losses, as we quickly dispatched with our clothes and moved over to the comfort of the bed. But Phil still insisted,

"Wrap your legs around my waist, please Joan, I think it will still work here."

And so I did. And now we seemed to fit and meld together in a much better way than before, this time we seemed a perfect fit. And I found that I was experiencing very pleasurable sensations, _very_ pleasurable indeed, and I found myself pleading with Phil not to stop as I clutched at his hair and raked his back with my nails, finding myself a very active participant as I instinctively bucked my hips to match his movements. Then I heard a low guttural moaning and realised with some surprise that it was coming from me, as exquisite sensations washed over me and kept building up inside me, until finally they exploded into an intense crescendo as I clung to Phil, with the waves of pleasure reaching right to the tips of my fingers and my toes, and I saw stars before my eyes as I felt him reach his peak too.

Finally we both collapsed together on the bed. _Now_ I understood what all the fuss about sex was. The earth hadn't just moved for me, there had been an earthquake of seismic proportions, and so this time it was me who said,

"Wow! Phil that was _fantastic_!_"_

And of course, Phil was in seventh heaven to have elicited such a response from me.

"So that was good for you then eh? I told you things would get even better didn't I? And I'm really glad you were willing to try…you know, what I suggested, it really worked for us didn't it?" he said, revelling in his new found prowess. He was so proud of himself that he was like a dog with two tails.

"Oh yes Phil, it really worked for us, and yes, it was good for me," I confirmed with a contented sigh, as I snuggled up against him, running my fingers through his soft chest hair. How much better could life get right now? I had a wonderful handsome husband who was desperate to make love to me as often as he could, and I had just discovered that I liked sex – that in fact I liked it rather a lot.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of ****Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 11**

When we returned from our honeymoon, I think it fair to say that we were as close and happy as any newly wed couple could be as we settled down to our life together on the farm. Life seemed pretty good at the moment, practically perfect really and we still had everything ahead of us to look forward to. Phil seemed to think that he had married the sexiest, most beautiful woman on the planet – of course I was under no illusion that I was anything of the kind, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and so who was I to argue with him, and it helped to make me feel secure and confident in myself – who cared what the rest of the world thought when my husband felt the way he did about me?

Uncle Dick was very happy to see us return, and offered to move out of the big double bedroom at the front of the house that he had always shared with Aunt Demelza so that we could have it, but I wouldn't hear of it. Instead we moved into the slightly smaller double room at the back of the house, which had the advantage of being the furthest away from Uncle Dick's room. Even so, Phil had to put some padding behind the headboard of our bed as his enthusiastic endeavours meant that it kept banging against the wall – which was rather an obvious give away as to what we were up to. In any case, the old boy was slightly hard of hearing these days – or at least he made out he was, and I think he probably turned a blind eye and ear to us on more than a few occasions.

Never having been so close to a man before, I found it absolutely fascinating to find out about things from the male perspective, and especially how they were so influenced by their urges and needs. Knowing now what a high sex drive Phil had, and how easily he was turned on by me, I found it pretty impressive that he had always been the perfect gentleman and kept himself under control while living under the same roof as me before we were married, and I really admired him for it, it certainly proved to me that he had very strong self discipline when required.

But now that he now longer had to restrain himself, and since he had discovered that I was enthusiastically embracing my new found sexuality, we just did what came naturally, and made love whenever – and wherever – we felt so inclined, if it was at all possible.

I'd been surprised to be awoken on our honeymoon pretty early in the morning by Phil, as he spooned against me and nuzzled and kissed my neck in the way that he was quickly learning would help to get me in the mood for some loving.

"What already? I'm not even awake yet Phil," I murmured sleepily, as I felt his very obvious urgent need pressing against me.

"I can't help it. Morning function test. Happens most mornings. Nature's way of checking that everything is in working order. We can make it just a quickie if you like my love, but it just seems such a shame not to take advantage of nature's bounty, seeing as I'm here in bed with my gorgeous wife right next to me," Phil cajoled me. His need was quickly and easily satisfied, and it was pleasurable enough for me even if it wasn't earth shattering. I was finding out that sex for a woman could be 'OK', it could be 'nice', it could be 'very nice', or it could be 'bloody fantastic', whereas for a man it always seemed to be 'bloody fantastic'. Another of Mother Nature's little quirks I suppose, to encourage man to go forth and multiply wherever he could.

So began the routine of the morning quickie – Phil reckoned it was the finest start to the day that a man could wish for, and it certainly put a smile on his face before rising for the day.

At night, we would often be exhausted after a very busy day on the farm, but somehow, as Phil watched me getting undressed, something would stir within him, and we'd end up making love despite our tiredness.

"I thought you were knackered, Phil Norton," I'd tell him, laughing.

"My emergency battery's kicked in. It's your fault you know, for being so tempting and sexy, I just can't help myself," he'd plead, laughing too.

And then there were the other times…_not_ in our bedroom. My rebellious and somewhat unconventional nature meant that I revelled in the fact that making love didn't have to be in our bed, in our bedroom, at night with the light off. Breaking with tradition and convention was something that I found rather liberating, and in fact I realised that the more I thought that my mother would disapprove of what I was doing, the more I found that I enjoyed it. And on the large expanse of the farm, there were quite a few opportunities to just 'go with the flow' and do what came naturally for a young couple with a very healthy love life. For example the hay barn; Phil was working in there one hot summers day when I took him his morning elevenses. He'd taken his top off… so he suggested that I take my top off too…and inevitably it wasn't long before we were rolling in the hay together.

"But Phil, I haven't got my thingy in, and I don't suppose you've got anything with you," I suddenly thought.

"Oh look it wouldn't matter if we had a baby sooner rather than later would it? Let's not worry too much, if it happens it happens eh?" Phil pleaded with me, and against my better judgement I gave in. Much as I wanted a family one day and was happy that Phil clearly did too, I was really enjoying my new found love life, and I knew that having a baby would soon change all that. Anyhow, when my period came as usual later that month, I heaved a sigh of relief that we'd got away with it.

**xXx**

I think you could say that our honeymoon period ended when we had our first major row, and inevitably it was about money. I had my own bank account that my father had always paid my allowance into, and that's what I'd used to buy things for our wedding that I'd needed – such as my negligee for our wedding night, and the tickets for the show on our honeymoon in Newquay. I knew that my allowance had been stopped, but I knew that I still had a bit of money left in there, although I hadn't really kept that close an eye on it.

One day, we had a delivery of feed for the chickens, and the driver was expecting a cheque to be handed to him to pay for it on delivery. I'd forgotten the delivery was due, and so hadn't told Phil about it for him to leave a cheque from the farm account ready as he usually did, and he was busy out on the top field. The driver was obviously in a rush and impatient to get going, so I grabbed my own cheque book, and quickly wrote out a cheque for him, thinking we could sort it out later. I put the feed away as I always looked after the chickens anyway, and then promptly forgot all about it.

About ten days later, the post arrived as we sat down to breakfast one morning, and one of the letters turned out to be a very snotty one from the chicken feed supplier, informing us that my cheque had been returned due to lack of funds, and was also not signed correctly – I had used my married name, and the account was still in my maiden name. The cheque had bounced, and Phil was absolutely _furious _about it. He was meticulous in his book keeping and kept a record of every penny in and out of the farm account, having taken it all over from Uncle Dick now.

"How could you have been so careless Joan! Have you any idea what this will mean? Once word gets out to the other suppliers that the cheque bounced, they'll think we're having financial difficulties, and then they'll demand payment up front, all our goodwill with them will disappear just like that, and they may well even refuse to deal with us at all," he told me angrily.

"I'm sorry, it was just a simple mistake that's all," I protested, not having seen this side of Phil before, and not liking it one bit.

"Well don't you keep track of how much is in your account? Where did the money in it come from anyhow?" he demanded to know.

"The allowance from my father used to go into it," I explained rather shamefacedly, realising that had stopped months ago, now I thought about it.

"Oh I see, money from Daddy eh? Well I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to the fact that we're not rich, so it's no good acting like a spoilt brat who just assumes money magically appears in their bank account," Phil ranted at me.

"Phil! That's not fair, of course I don't think like that, it was just an oversight, that's all," I replied heatedly.

"So where's your bank statement so that we can go through it, see what's what then?" Phil asked.

"I don't know, I suppose it still goes to my parent's house in London," I confessed. Somehow I hadn't got round to changing the name and address details on my account.

"Oh that's just great! They're going to get a letter from the bank telling them that your cheque has bounced, so now they're going to think that you're married to some cheap skate who's in debt aren't they?" Phil was now even more livid.

"No! They wouldn't open mail addressed to me even if it did go there," I said, crossing my fingers behind my back as I hoped that was true.

"Well I'm going to have to go and see the supplier straight away and pay them cash to settle the bill and hopefully calm them down before too much damage is done," Phil said, as he frowned and rubbed his brow. "You should have handed that account over to me to handle once we were married, you really have no need of an account of your own. And I think it best that you just leave me to deal with money and sort all our finances out in future hmm?"

"I like having my own account, and I'm quite capable of sorting things out for myself thank you very much," I told him firmly, appalled at his decidedly old fashioned views.

"Well I don't think you are, judging by this," Phil raised his voice as he shook the letter at me. "In future if you need money for anything not covered by the housekeeping that Dick gives you each week, you'll have to let me know in advance what it's for, and then I'll decide if you can have it either from the farm account or my account."

"What you mean I'll have to come cap in hand to ask you for money, that you'll have total control over it?" I asked him incredulously.

"Yes, I think that would be the best thing, then there won't be any more slip ups like this, will there?" Phil stated, with a face like thunder.

"Sod that and sod you! You're worse than my father, wanting to control everything!" I shouted at him, as I stormed out of the kitchen and out of the house, because I just _had _to get away from him. Minutes later I heard the truck start up and drive off down the drive rather fast, and I assumed that was Phil on his way to the supplier to pay him.

I went and fed the chickens, so incensed by Phil's attitude that I was throwing the feed around very vigorously indeed. Then I heard the coup door open, and I looked up as Uncle Dick made his way in.

"I suppose you heard us?" I asked. We'd been rowing in the kitchen, and I realised that Uncle Dick had probably been making his way there for breakfast when he'd no doubt heard us.

"Hard not to really," he agreed, in his quiet, understated way.

"How dare he…I _won't _be treated like that, like the little woman indoors who can't think for herself, a kept woman, as if I haven't got mind of my own!" I was so angry that I was practically spitting feathers.

"You have to remember that he had things pretty hard when his dad died and he found out they were in debt up to their ears. Very quickly all the suppliers refused to deal with him unless he paid cash in advance you see, made it very difficult to keep the farm running. He did bloody well to get it all sorted the way he did you know," Uncle Dick quietly explained.

"Don't tell me you're taking his side, Uncle Dick! I just made one silly little mistake, for one small bill for goodness sake. That doesn't give him the right to be so… so… bloody patronising and…and controlling!" I was still seething.

"I'm not taking sides, I'm just trying to help you see why he maybe overreacted in the way he did, that's all. I trust him completely now with all the farm finances you know, he's got it all under control and ticking along nicely, far better than I ever did. And you know, maybe you were a little slap dash with your finances?" he gently rebuked me.

"Yes, but…I can't _bear _being treated like a child, not by Phil of all people," I said with feeling.

"Well then, it's really pretty simple isn't it Joan? Don't _act_ like a child, take responsibility for your actions and get things sorted out like an _adult_. Anyway, that's enough from an old codger like me, but let me just say one more thing, which is that it's never a good idea to let the sun go down on an argument, because you never know what tomorrow will bring, do you hmm?"

With that Uncle Dick went back into the house, leaving me to mull over what he had said.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 12**

"Well actually, Jack Biddens was fine about it as it turned out, once I explained what had happened. Said he'd heard I'd got meself a pretty young wife, that these things happen, and just to make sure I didn't let her loose with the cheque book again, so I told him there was no chance of that."

I could feel my blood boiling again as I imagined the two men laughing together about how women should be kept in their place – barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen.

Phil hadn't heard me come in, and obviously he was telling Uncle Dick how he'd got on with the chicken feed supplier who'd sent us the letter about the bounced cheque. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was now relaxed and happy, joking as he was about it. They looked up as I came in - Uncle Dick took one look at my face, then quickly made an excuse to leave us alone.

"Right well, I'd best go and …erm…sort out my greenhouse," he said, hastily making for the door. He was spending quite a lot of his time out of the way in his greenhouse lately, it had never been so tidy and organised.

Phil looked over at me and smiled.

"All sorted out now love. No real harm done," he assured me.

I said nothing, but made my way over to the cooker and started clanking about to put some of my home made leek and potato soup on to warm up, as it was now nearly lunch time. Phil came over to stand behind me and started putting his hands round my waist, and went to kiss my neck.

"Don't!" I snapped at him.

"Oh don't be like that Joan. Look I'm sorry if I was a bit hard on you earlier. I suppose I have to remember that you're still just a young girl, one who hasn't had to worry about money before, so it's not really your fault. In future, you just leave all the money side of things to me. As the man of the house, I'll take care of everything from now on, then you won't have to worry yourself. We'll get your account closed…" he said, and it felt as if he was treating me like a ten year old, just adding to my anger which had now cooled into icy fury.

"I won't be closing my account actually. I've rung the bank manager at my branch in London, and explained the situation. We've agreed that it makes sense for me to transfer my account to their Truro branch, so he's sending all the necessary forms for me to fill in, to sort all the details out and make sure that everything is updated and correct," I informed him.

"But Joan, what on earth for? You don't need a bank account, because you don't have any money to put in it, do you?" Phil laughed, as he pooh-poohed my plans, talking to me as if I were a simpleton.

"I've just been down to see Harry Jones at the Farm Produce shop in the village with some samples of my baking, my jams and pickles, and some of my spare eggs and vegetables. And it turns out that he's more than happy to sell my produce for me, he reckons that my Eccles cakes are the best he's ever tasted actually. So any income I make from these sales can go into my bank account. Then there will be no need for me to come begging to you for money should I need it," I informed him.

I'd taken on board Uncle Dick's comments about taking responsibility and acting like an adult, so not only had I made the phone call to sort out my bank account, I'd also come up with a solution that I thought could work very well to provide me with a small but independent income of my own. I'd cycled down to the village laden with samples of my produce in the basket on the front of my bike, and Harry had been very keen indeed once he'd sampled some of my cakes, in fact he'd said that the next time he saw Phil, he was going to tell him that was a very lucky man indeed to have married me, being a looker _and _a great cook too. No doubt he was the type of man who had the gift of the gab, but it had cheered me up all the same.

"I really don't see why you feel the need Joan…" Phil started to protest.

"I also spoke to Helen Pratt , she sells some of her cakes the same way, and she is going to explain her costings to me so that I make sure that I ask a fair price for my produce to cover all my expenses, and the cut that the shop takes, but still make a profit," I continued.

"Look Joan, as your husband it's my responsibility to provide for you, so you really don't need to worry. Things may be a bit tight, but I'll always make sure you have what you need, there's really no need for you to do this," Phil told me in a rather condescending manner. I realised that he just didn't get it; he still didn't understand why I was so angry, and even now he was trying to cuddle me, no doubt thinking that he would soon win over his silly little wife with his manly presence. I stiffened at his touch and shrugged off his advances.

"Look, I'm truly sorry for the embarrassment I caused for you with the bounced cheque, so I'm really glad that you managed to sort it out amicably, and I'll make sure it never happens again. But I will _not _be reduced to begging for a handout from you that you may or may not deign to give me. So, I'm telling you now, I _will _be keeping my own bank account, and I _will_ have my own income. You can like it or you can lump it Phil, because that's the way it's going to be from now on," I informed him as I plonked a bowl of soup and a roll down on the table for him. "Oh, and I'm afraid there aren't any cakes, because I took them all to the shop for them to sample, so you'll just have to go without for now I'm afraid."

With that, I put my head out of the door and called to Uncle Dick to come in for his lunch. Poor man had had his breakfast disrupted by our rowing, and now his lunch was going the same way. He made his way in and sat at the table with us, looking from one to the other, trying to assess whether we had made up. By the awkward atmosphere I think he quickly surmised that we had not.

Phil finally got the message that I was _really_ angry with him, and that I was not in the mood to kiss and make up just like that. It wasn't that I was sulking in a child like manner; it was just that I was still too angry with him to let him any where near me at the moment.

"Well I can't see as you'll make much from it, hardly seems worth the bother to me," he sniffed his disapproval, as he sat at the table and started on his soup. I thought it more probable that he didn't like the idea of any of my baking that he enjoyed so much being in short supply for him - I was a pretty good cook now, even if I say so myself. But his attitude made me even more determined to prove him wrong by making enough money of my own for me never to have to ask him for any kind of a handout.

"Apparently the tourists go mad for good quality home made produce, and pay a premium price for it, especially if it's well presented. Helen is going to help me with that too, I'm going over there later and since I've no idea how long I'll be, you can get your own dinner tonight. I'm sure it won't be a problem, seeing as you men are so superior to us poor little women in every way, hmm?" Both men now looked at me in horror, as they hadn't had to make their own dinner since I'd arrived on the farm well over a year ago now.

Actually it would be no great hardship for them as there was plenty of food that had already been prepared, but it was a matter of principle. I felt that I was rather being taken for granted recently, seeing as I'd allowed myself to slot so easily into the role of the traditional housewife. Time for a wake up call now I felt, time to shake things up a bit.

**xXx**

"But your Phil is _such _a lovely man, Joan, I'm sure he didn't mean any harm, he was just worried that's all," Helen told me as she handed me a cup of tea that afternoon, having listened to me pouring out my frustration as we sat in her kitchen at Manor Hill Farm. We'd also covered everything I needed to know about pricing and presentation for my produce, she really had been most helpful and I was very grateful to her for being such a good friend.

"No, I'm sure he didn't, but that almost makes it worse, he clearly doesn't see woman as equals when it comes to things like finance, he's so old fashioned and well, I find it insulting really."

"Yes but you did stuff up and make a mistake, didn't you? You can't argue with that." Helen pointed out. She seemed to think that I was the one overreacting, and seemed to be defending Phil, much to my annoyance.

"I know, but everyone's allowed one mistake aren't they? Phil overreacted, and he's so…so…_anal_ about his stupid finances!" I exclaimed. "So I really think it best, for the sake of our marriage, that I have my own source of income. I really don't think I could stand to have him lecture me if I had to ask him for money for something he didn't approve of, I think I might have to divorce him on the spot!"

"Well, we'd better make sure you get this right and generate some income then, hadn't we? But really, you wouldn't ever seriously think of leaving such a good man would you? Especially as I gather your Phil is so blissfully happy, that's what I've heard anyway," Helen informed me. With both of our husbands being called Phil it got a bit confusing sometimes.

"What have you heard then? What's he been saying?" I asked curiously.

"Oh I think it was the fact that your Phil was telling all the single men at the cricket club that he highly recommends married life, thinks it's the best thing he ever did. As he had a very big grin on his face at the time, inevitably they all took this to mean that he's getting plenty of nookie," Helen told me with a smile on her face. She and Muriel always seemed to know everything that had gone on at the cricket club, none of the juicy gossip ever seemed to escape them I'd found out.

"Oh really, did they now?" Actually I could just imagine that Phil wouldn't have had to say much at all. He was so proud of himself now that our sex life had really taken off for the both of us, that I could just imagine him walking in with a swagger and a silly grin on his face and that would have been enough for the lads to have quickly made their own assumptions.

"So, I take it it's true then? You do…you know…quite often?" Helen probed curiously, as she saw me smiling ruefully.

"Well, I think you could safely say we're a normal, healthy couple," I confirmed, not really wanting to elaborate much further, as I had no idea how liberal or broad minded she was. Neither did I want to create any further gossip on the subject of our love life.

"Yes, but what would you call normal? How many times do you…if you don't mind me asking?" Helen queried, and something in her tone made me realise that she wasn't asking just to be nosy.

"Well, it varies depending on our circumstances of course, but I'd say minimum once, but often two or maybe even three times, that's pretty normal isn't it?" I replied, after thinking about it for a minute.

"Yes, I suppose for most couples two or three times a week is normal at first, but then it gets less frequent after a while, when the first shine has worn off things." Helen agreed, with a sad look on her face.

"Hmm, yes, I suppose so," I agreed politely. I didn't like to correct her by telling her that actually I'd meant two or three times a _day_, not a week. Perhaps we weren't so much within the normal range as I'd assumed then – I really had no idea about other couples. Helen still seemed to have something weighing on her mind, so I didn't change the subject, I just waited for her to continue.

"You see we've agreed to try for a baby," she told me quietly, looking round as if to make sure we were alone in her kitchen.

"That's wonderful! How exciting," I exclaimed. Helen was a couple of years older than me, and had been married a while now, so it would seem the right time for them to start a family.

"Yes but…" she hesitated.

"But what?" I wondered what the problem was.

"Well we don't actually…you know…very often…well not at all really, so I'm never going to get pregnant, am I?" she finally confessed.

"Oh! I see, no well, you would actually need to …" I didn't know what to say. Helen was a very attractive woman, so I really couldn't imagine why on earth her husband wouldn't be interested in her. As I thought about it, I realised that it must be very hurtful for her if her husband couldn't bring himself to make love to her, despite the fact that he said he wanted a child. What a strange man he seemed to be, whatever could his problem be?

"Have you talked to him about it? What does he say? Maybe he doesn't really want a baby yet?" I suggested.

"Oh he won't talk about it. He assures me he does want a baby, says he'd like a son to help on the farm, as most men do I suppose, but then he makes excuses, says he's tired, or comes to bed really late when he thinks I'll be asleep," Helen explained. I'd met her husband a few time now, and he seemed a dark, morose type of man, quite the opposite of my Phil.

Just then we heard the door opening, and in walked Phil Pratt, carrying his shotgun over his arm. It was un-cocked, but still looked rather menacing somehow. My Phil rarely brought his shotgun into our kitchen, he always kept it locked up safely in one of the farm outbuildings, and dealt with it there after he'd been out shooting rabbits.

"Oh hello there, didn't expect you back just yet. I'll put the kettle on, make a fresh pot of tea," Helen said brightly as she jumped up.

"What are you doing here then?" Phil enquired rather rudely as he stared at me.

"Oh I was just helping her work out some prices for the farm produce shop, she's going to sell some of her cakes, the same as me," Helen quickly explained.

"Don't worry, I was just going anyway. Thanks so much for all your help Helen," I said as I made my way out, thinking that her husband was certainly not the friendliest of men, and realising that I'd never once seen him show any kind of affection towards her.

It suddenly made me feel very glad that it was _my_ Phil I was married to and not hers. Mine was always showering me with affection, and in fact I'd told him off the last time Helen had been over in our kitchen because he'd done his usual trick of coming up behind me to give me a cuddle and a kiss as I stood at the sink. He certainly wasn't the quiet, shy young man that he'd been when I'd first arrived on the farm, he was now much more confident and outgoing, and I guessed that's what love does for you when it makes you feel so happy.

"Phil! Control yourself, we've got company," I'd told him, laughing.

"What? Nothing wrong with a man showing his wife a bit of loving, is there?" he'd replied as he'd plonked a big kiss on my cheek and then walked off with a cheeky smile, having nabbed one of the scones I'd put out for us and winking at Helen in a very friendly manner. Other times he'd sat and chatted to her, and had certainly never made her feel unwelcome in the way that Phil Pratt had to me.

No wonder Helen thought my Phil was such a lovely man – because when it came down to it, he really was. He just needed a bit of educating and updating in the matter of equality between the sexes… which meant that my little business enterprise just _had _to be a success.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 13**

My little business was starting to take off – everything I had taken to the Farm Produce shop so far had sold – it practically flew off the shelves, Harry told me. So now I was sitting at the kitchen table one afternoon, writing out some fancy labels for my latest batch of jams. I'd also got some gingham fabric to make little caps to put on the jars too, as Helen had shown me, and I was rather enjoying myself trying to be a bit creative.

I looked up as Phil appeared at the kitchen door. He looked over at me with a rather sheepish grin and then came over and sat down next to me. We weren't actually rowing or arguing any more, but things had been decidedly cool between us for the last few days, and the atmosphere had definitely been strained. Now it seemed that Phil had something to say, as he fidgeted in his seat while I carried on with what I was doing.

"Look Joan, maybe I did overreact about that blasted cheque of yours the other day, but you see it brought back memories of how things were after my dad passed away and I lost the farm, and I couldn't stand to see Havenhurst go the same way. But I am sorry that I upset you, and I really shouldn't have lost my temper like that," he started off by saying.

I held my tongue, and waited to hear him out. It had been very out of character for Phil to fly off the handle as he had that day, he was usually so calm and collected.

"And I thought I was doing the right thing by saying that I'd take care of the money side of things for us, because that's how I was brought up, that it's a man's responsibility, his duty like," he explained.

I stopped what I was doing now, and turned to give him my full attention as he continued.

"Maybe it's a bit old fashioned, but that's how it always was with my mum and dad, and since I've really not had anything to do with women till you came into my life and turned it upside down, I just assumed…well anyway I guess I've learnt it's not how you want us to do things in our marriage is it?"

"Not really, no." I bit back a retort about how his father had not made such a great job of the finances for his farm, because I realised that it would have been rather cruel and unhelpful when Phil was clearly trying hard to put things right between us.

"And Dick has pointed out to me that I fell for you cos you're not like other girls, so what did I expect? Feisty, he called you, strong minded and independent, and that I should be thankful you're not one of those pathetic drippy women who can't think for themselves, that I'd be bored rigid, and that you're always going to keep me on me toes."

I couldn't help but smile at this. Clearly I wasn't the only one to benefit from Uncle Dick's pearls of wisdom.

Phil now tentatively put his hand on my back, and when I didn't shrug him off this time, he slipped his arm around my waist and gave me a little hug.

Now it was my turn to say my piece, to make my apology.

"I'm sorry too for all the upset I caused with that stupid bloody cheque, I just thought I was being helpful at the time, instead of which I ended up causing mayhem. I just assumed there was still enough money left in my account, but I won't be making that mistake again. In future I promise I'll keep track of everything that I write a cheque out for, and also when deliveries are due," I told him with a rueful smile.

Part of the reason my account had been short of funds was the expensive negligee that I'd splashed out on for our wedding night, which had turned out to be a complete waste of money anyway, as Phil just wasn't the type to appreciate fancy lingerie. All he was ever interested in was what was underneath, so I certainly wouldn't be bothering with anything like that again.

"I'll go through all the farm books and accounts with you if you like, explain what's what, so that you have a better understanding of it all," Phil offered.

"Ok, that seems like a good idea. But really I think it would probably be best to leave all that side of things in your very capable hands – _not_ because you're a man, but because you just happen to be better at it, that's all. And I'll concentrate on my own little enterprise to keep it ticking over and put some money in my bank account, now that I've got started with it," I replied. I knew my limitations, and Phil was undoubtedly a far better book keeper/accountant than I would ever be.

"Well, if you're happy with that arrangement then I am too, I agree that it makes sense. And if you need any help with your venture, you only have to say. I wasn't that keen on the idea initially I suppose because I was just worried that there wouldn't be enough of your delicious wares to keep me in the manner to which I've become accustomed," Phil joked now.

"Oh I'll always make sure you get your goodies," I joked back.

"What goodies are we talking about now?" Phil asked, as he pulled me closer to him for a cuddle and a little kiss.

"You know, all your usual favourites - Eccles cakes, scones, that kind of thing," I teased him, knowing full well that hadn't been what he'd meant at all.

"I've missed you, my lover," he whispered in my ear as he leaned in to me, his strong Cornish burr sending shivers down my spine. Quite clearly he'd hated getting the cold shoulder from me, but I'd needed time to cool down before I could let him near me again, and I was still trying to resist him for a little longer even now, but I found it increasingly difficult as he started kissing my neck and behind my ears, which he knew by now usually worked to get me in the mood and receptive to his advances. And as we hadn't made love for a while, he was having an even stronger affect on me than usual.

"I've missed you too," I whispered back, and finally gave up trying to resist him any more as we started kissing passionately, kisses that quickly built into scorching red hot desire and somehow before I knew it, Phil had lifted me up onto the kitchen table, and was tugging at my clothes to gain the access he now desperately craved, until I suddenly came to my senses and tried to push him away.

"Phil, no! What about Uncle Dick, he could walk in at any moment, we can't….not here!"

"Told me he was going for a gentle stroll over to see Tony Poustie, that he'd be gone all afternoon and then he told me in no uncertain terms to stop messing about, not to be such a bloody fool and get my backside in here quick sharp to sort things out with you good and proper. So you see, I'm only following his instructions," Phil confessed breathlessly.

"Yes, but…" I tried to protest. Phil silenced me by kissing me again, as he undid his trousers and then urgently pulled me to him, and I was lost, lost to the sheer strength of our mutual need.

**xXx**

"That was _so_ naughty Phil, very naughty indeed," I told him afterwards. Much as I prided myself on being a bit of a rebel, I'd managed to even shock myself by our wanton behaviour.

"Yes, I know. Bloody fantastic wasn't it. Almost worth having an argument if that's how we get to make up afterwards eh?" Phil sighed blissfully, grinning from ear to ear. We'd finally made it to our bedroom, which is of course what we should have done earlier. I'd have to start all over again with my jam labels because they'd somehow got all creased up and smudged in the course of our lustful activities.

"But the _kitchen table_! Where we sit and have our meals with Uncle Dick, for goodness sake!"

"Well he's not going to know, is he? Look, we're man and wife, alone in our home, so where's the harm in us enjoying a bit of pleasuring together when the mood takes us, wherever we happen to be eh? And anyway, it didn't worry you before when we got carried away in the barn," Phil pointed out, as he cuddled me up against his lovely broad chest.

"Oh I don't know, the barn seemed alright somehow. But this was well… it's different…" I struggled to explain the contradiction, because despite my protestations, I'd actually really loved having sex on the kitchen table _because_ it had felt so deliciously wicked and naughty. But there was also something else on my mind.

"Phil, we really should have used something. We were lucky I didn't fall for a baby last time we didn't take precautions, we got away with it then, but…"

"Well love, if it's meant to be… We'll call him Richard if it's a boy, after your uncle, how about that hmm?" Phil laughed, clearly not too concerned at all by the thought of me getting pregnant.

I supposed he was right, that in any case it was too late to worry now, what was done was done. At this rate, maybe Helen and I would end up having a baby around the same time, which would be great. Perhaps if she just tried a little bit harder with some feminine persuasion on her husband Phil, surely as a normal hot blooded male he wouldn't be able to resist her, however tired he was, would he?


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 14**

Phil and I both thought the world of Uncle Dick. As he was my uncle, not Phil's, I'd initially assumed that it was only me that he gave little words of advice to, little nuggets of wisdom that he'd acquired over the years, but now I knew that he did just the same with Phil.

Apparently, not that long after I'd come to stay at the farm, Uncle Dick had told Phil that if he was keen on me, he'd better get a move on and and say something. He'd said that he'd be a fool not to snap me up, and that if he didn't, someone else most surely would because pretty girls like me who could cook and were practical were few and far between.

"He who hesitates…" Uncle Dick had warned him, Phil told me, to help explain why he'd seem to act out of character by proposing as quickly as he had, thinking I was about to return to London.

"And of course he was right to push us together, he could see that we were perfect for each other," Phil told me, clearly more than happy with Uncle Dick's matchmaking skills. "If he hadn't, I might still be a lonely bachelor, with no one to cuddle up to at night."

Not that Uncle Dick could ever be accused of interfering or poking his nose in when it wasn't welcome, not at all, and that was quite a skill, when I thought about it. He had a way of just quietly pointing out one or two salient facts that got to the heart of the matter, which really helped at times as Phil and I adjusted to living together as man and wife. I could be hot headed, stubborn and proud, whereas Phil was usually much more laid back but floundered because he really hadn't had much to do with women and so he struggled to understand the female psyche. The fact that Uncle Dick had years of experience from his marriage to Aunt Demelza to draw on meant that sometimes he was able to guide Phil to at least deal with things in a way that wouldn't exacerbate matters. Sometimes that was the best you could hope for, Uncle Dick had explained to him, equipped as men were with the wrong set of hormones to ever be able to fully understand women.

"A lot of the time you probably won't understand what it is you've actually done to upset her, so just accept that you're in the wrong and apologise, much quicker and easier in the long run," he apparently advised Phil.

He tried his best to make sure that he left us newly weds alone as much as possible, but I always included him in our meal times, and neither of us would have wanted it any other way because he was family. It was still his house, and he was still officially in control of the farm, even though he had, in reality handed it all over to Phil these days. He was basically retired now, so he enjoyed wandering over to see his good friend Tony Poustie who lived nearby, or pottering around the garden and his greenhouse, as well as doing 'The Times' crossword, and listening to the radio – we didn't bother much with television on the farm because the picture was barely watchable due to the poor reception.

Breakfast was usually on the table at around 7:00am each morning. Animals needed feeding, crops needed tending, whatever day of the week it was. Uncle Dick was sometimes a little later down these days, but when one morning it got to nearly 8:00am and there was still no sign of him, I decided to take him up his cup of tea. I tapped on his bedroom door.

"Uncle Dick, here's your morning cuppa to get you going," I called out, as I had before on previous similar occasions. When there was no answer, I opened the door, and saw him still asleep in bed. I went over and gently shook him, but he still didn't respond.

"Uncle Dick…?" a sudden fear chilled my heart, and I leant over to feel his cheek and then took his hand. It was stone cold and lifeless.

"Phil! Phil… quick, come here," I screamed out, as I let the cup of tea crash out of my hand and smash onto the floor. Luckily Phil was in earshot and came bounding up the stairs, two at a time.

"Whatever's the matter?" he asked, as he ran in.

"It's Uncle Dick, he's…" I pointed over at his lifeless body, unable to say any more, I just stood there in total shock, my hand over my mouth to stop me screaming out.

Phil went over, and quickly assessed that Uncle Dick had indeed passed away.

"I'm so sorry love, looks like he's passed away in his sleep," he quietly told me. I just collapsed as Phil took me in his arms and held me tight as I sobbed my heart out for the father figure that I'd just lost.

**xXx**

Phil took care of everything. He was a tower of strength. He knew exactly what had to be done, having gone through a very similar experience with his own father not so long ago. To start with, I didn't handle it very well at all, I just went to pieces, I'm ashamed to say. I suppose I'd never experienced the death of a much loved close family member before, and it hit me really hard. But Phil looked after me, supported me, and so before too long I found the strength to pull myself together and start helping Phil with all the arrangements.

"I suppose I've got to let my parents know," I realised, dreading having to deal with them.

"I'll deal with that, you're in no fit state to deal with them," Phil told me.

"No Phil, really I …" I feebly protested.

"No argument. Where will I find your father's phone number?" Phil insisted.

And so I let him go ahead, and listened nervously as he made the call, having confirmed with me that the correct term of address for my father was 'Mr.' and not 'Doctor' because he was a surgeon.

"Good evening, is that Mr. George Ellingham? I'm very sorry to have to tell you that I'm calling to convey some very sad news concerning your brother Richard," Phil opened the conversation, wisely not immediately revealing his own identity in case my father hung up on him. Having now got his full attention, Phil continued.

"My name is Philip Norton, and I am your daughter Joan's husband. I'm ringing to let you know that we discovered Richard had passed away when we found him in his bed on Tuesday morning. The doctor believes that he passed away during the course of Monday night. All the indications are that he suffered a massive heart attack in his sleep, but of course this will have to be confirmed by a Post Mortem examination. However, as far as anyone can judge, it would seem that he did not suffer in any way."

Phil sounded very calm and authoritative, and I felt very proud of him for the way he was dealing with my father.

"All the necessary arrangements are in hand, the official procedures are all being followed as required, and I will be in touch again once we are able to formalise arrangements for the funeral and the reading of Richard's will. Yes, I will, you're welcome, goodbye Mr. Ellingham."

With that, Phil put the phone down and smiled over at me.

"There, that's that out of the way for now then, eh?" he reassured me, as he came over and gave me a big hug. I'd needed a lot of those lately, and Phil never failed to oblige.

"Joan, there is one thing I've been wondering. I don't want to worry you, but…" Phil hesitated, but there was clearly something on his mind that he had felt he couldn't put off asking me any longer.

"What? Go on, ask me, I'm fine, really," I told him.

"Well, Dick's will – have you any idea what's in it? What he wanted to happen with the farm?" Phil tried to make it seem as if he was casually asking, but I suddenly realised the implications of what he was asking me.

"Well, he told me on quite a few occasions that he was leaving Havenhurst to me, but…"

"You don't know if he actually put that in his will, do you?" Phil gently pressed me. "He told me as well that he was going to change his will, when he had a quiet word with me on our wedding day, but I'm not sure that he ever actually got round to doing it."

"Oh my God Phil, if he hasn't, we'll lose everything, we'll be homeless!" I could feel the panic rising in me, as the enormity of it all hit me. I'd been burying my head in the sand up to now, letting Phil shoulder everything, but it was time to face up to things.

"Hey, no need to worry, we'll sort something out whatever happens. I've got a bit of money put by, left over from the sale of my dad's farm, so if it comes to it, we'll just start over, buy our own little place," Phil tried to reassure me, but I could see that he was just as worried, probably more so, than I was. He'd been running the farm, with Dick's blessing, as if it was his own for some time now, and it would be utterly galling for him to have to let it go, just as he'd had to let his own father's farm go too.

"But I love it here. This is our home. There wouldn't be anywhere else like it, I want to stay here," I cried out, like a spoilt child.

"Well maybe Dick has sorted out his will. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" Phil tried to reassure me, but we both knew that paperwork had not been Uncle Dick's strong point, so the chances were that we were going to lose our home and our livelihood.

**xXx**

My friends from the WI were all marvellous. They rallied round to help us to organise the funeral and the wake, taking the weight from my shoulders, and allowing Phil to concentrate on everything else that needed to be done.

Helen and Muriel suggested that I let a lady called Annie Dove organise the catering for the wake which we were holding at the farm after the funeral service at St Roger's Church, with the solicitor then coming along afterwards to read Uncle Dick's will to the relevant parties.

"Leave everything to Annie, she's brilliant at all that. You don't want to have to worry yourself about all the catering at a time like this," Helen assured me, and although I trusted her judgement, I found myself protesting.

"Yes, maybe, but I still need to be involved, I want to do at least some of the cooking," I insisted, needing to keep busy and wanting to pull my weight - it was what Uncle Dick would have expected from me after all, and I could just imagine him telling me that sitting around moping wouldn't change anything anyway.

My parents and my brother, complete with his new wife Margaret, whose existence I had only just learned of, were coming down for the funeral and the reading of the will. It would be the first time I'd seen them in about eighteen months – the first time since Phil and I had got married, so they would be meeting my husband for the first time too. My pride was now kicking in, and I wanted them to see everything at its best because I was so proud of Phil for the way he was handling everything, and I didn't want to let him down.

So I threw myself into cooking and cleaning and it did actually help to make me feel better. If I was going to have to hand over the farm, no one was going to be able to say that it had been neglected in any way. Phil and I had debated long and hard about who the farm could possibly go to, but in the end had decided that all we could do was wait and see, it was no good keep torturing ourselves with 'what if this..' and 'maybe that…'

Muriel was in charge of the flowers for the church, and as she was by far the best flower arranger , always winning awards at the annual WI convention, I knew the church would look beautiful to give Uncle Dick the best possible send off. Mu was going to use some of the Dahlias from the garden that he'd grown and I knew she was planning several arrangements to have in the drawing room in the farm too.

Marianne Walker's husband Tim was arranging the cars, another friend of a friend was printing out the order of service, and so it went on, everything falling into place. And finally the day of the funeral loomed. It had been arranged for the afternoon, to allow time for my family to arrive. They were driving down from London and staying at the Headlands Hotel – the best in the area. We had invited them to stay at the farm, but that invitation had been declined – I think it was just a step too far, but they would at least be coming to the farm after the funeral for the wake – and for the reading of the will. I expected Phil to be nervous about meeting and dealing with my family, but he didn't seem to be. At least he would be meeting them on home ground, so to speak, and I knew he was planning to go out of his way to do everything properly, by the book, as he always liked to anyway. I think he still believed that I had been wrong not to let him go up to London to see my father about marrying me, so maybe now he felt it was time to put things right, to clear the air. Well he could certainly try, but I didn't hold out too much hope.

And so on the day of the funeral, I watched as my father's car pulled up on the drive. I gave Phil a reassuring little smile and then squeezed his big hand with my much smaller one, as we walked out together to meet my family.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 15**

I stood back and held my breath as Phil opened the car door for my mother. He was looking extremely smart and well groomed, wearing his black 'funeral' suit that he'd bought for his own father's funeral, along with a black tie, a crisp white freshly pressed shirt, and clean, well polished shoes. He'd made a trip to the barbers just the day before for a short back and sides, and his thick blonde hair was now neatly brushed back. I also knew that he had spent quite some time scrubbing his hands and nails so that they didn't look scruffy or grubby, and so now, as he introduced himself and offered his hand to my mother to help her out of the car, I saw her look at him with some surprise. Clearly, this man wasn't anything like the nasty, yobbish spiv that she had pictured her silly, gullible young daughter to have been taken in by. This was a well mannered, decent, rather good looking man, and my heart swelled with pride as I looked on.

Phil then proffered his hand to my father as he got out of the car, and I heaved a sigh of relief, as after a moment's hesitation, he shook it. I'd been so worried that he was going to snub Phil, even though the two men had spoken several times on the phone. Phil had been so very calm and authoritative in their dealings, so I couldn't see how my father could fail to be anything less than impressed by him. Anyway, with the other people around that were gathering for the funeral, I think he realised that it would have looked petty and ungracious on his part not to have accepted the gesture on such an occasion.

Then Phil turned to help the lady out from the back of the car, and I presumed that she must be my new sister in law, Margaret. She was slim, elegant and beautiful, just like a model from 'Vogue' magazine in my opinion. I saw her looking at Phil, no doubt noting that his suit was not the top quality of her husbands, but even so she too seemed taken by surprise as she looked at him, and I imagined that she was probably quite intrigued about us, the black sheep of the family.

Then my brother walked round from his side of the car and came up to Phil. They were about the same height, both had blonde hair, but Phil was a stockier, broader build. My brother looked the picture of elegance in what was no doubt an expensive, well cut suit, as befitted a fully qualified and very well remunerated surgeon as he now was. They looked at each other for a few seconds before Phil again proffered his hand, and my brother shook it. I heaved another sigh of relief. So far, so good.

"Shall we go in?" I spoke up now, nodding towards the farm house where we were gathering to wait for the funeral cortege. I didn't attempt any small talk with my family, I really wasn't in the mood for polite chit chat with them, all I could think about was getting through dear Uncle Dick's funeral.

**xXx**

After a very beautiful and moving service, more a celebration of his life than a morbid and sad occasion, we all returned to the farm. With Phil's support, I had just about held myself together, but now I was not looking forward to having to deal with my family. We'd barely spoken so far, it had not been the time or place to start with recriminations or arguments. My parents looked much the same, my brother slightly older and more cocksure now that he had joined the ranks of the elite surgical team at St George's hospital. And of course his new wife Margaret looked simply divine as she hung on his arm and gazed at him adoringly.

My WI friends had everything under control for us on our return. Annie, Muriel and Helen had risen to the challenge and pulled out all the stops, having gathered from me what a terrible snob my mother was. There were beautiful flower arrangements everywhere, wonderful food being served up on elegant china plates that Muriel had insisted that we borrow, complete with proper linen serviettes. Truth be told, Muriel was a bit of a snob herself, and was determined to show that she knew the correct etiquette for these occasions.

I saw my mother looking round, clearly very impressed as she noted everything with some surprise. And of course Phil was playing his part too by showing such impeccable manners. He'd obviously remembered just about everything I'd ever told him about my mother, so he'd opened the car door for her, helped her out, shown her to her place in church, all the little touches that she loved. Now, back at the farm, he ensured that she had a drink, offered her a seat and then pulled out the chair for her, and I could see that all this met with her approval, as she nodded her head at him in the way that a queen does to her minions.

Then Phil had a quiet word with my father and brother.

"I've laid out all the farm accounts, books and accompanying paperwork for you to inspect before the solicitor arrives, so if you would care to follow me through here..." Phil ushered the men into the small room off the kitchen that he used as a little office, determined to show them that everything was above board, and that the farm had been well run and efficiently handled under his management.

"So Joan. Why have you been skulking down here in Cornwall, hiding this husband of yours as if you're ashamed of him? Leading us to believe he was just a hired hand when in fact he was Richard's Estate Manager?" she started on me.

I was incredulous and speechless, as my jaw dropped open in total shock at the gall of the woman. All those things she had said, had shouted at me, the fact that she and my father had cut me off and refused to come to our wedding, all conveniently forgotten, now that she liked what she saw. I could just hear her boasting to her friends 'Joan is living on an estate in Cornwall that her husband runs'. What other people thought was all that really mattered to her. The truth, that we lived on just a smallholding rather than on some grand estate, would no doubt be conveniently omitted.

"You always were so stubborn and difficult Joan. Refusing to speak to us in that way, such a shame that you had to miss out on Christopher and Margaret's wedding last month. Now that was a truly wonderful occasion," she gloated, as she looked over at her new daughter in law, draped as usual on my brother's arm.

Margaret was wearing a very elegant, well cut black dress that showed off her very slim frame to perfection, along with high stiletto heels. Really it was no wonder that she had to cling to my brother all the time, she had to, to keep her balance in those shoes. I certainly couldn't imagine her wanting to take a stroll round the farm later, and somehow I didn't think she'd want to borrow a pair of my muddy wellies. Next to her, I felt short, dumpy and frumpy wearing a black dress that I'd had for a number of years, even though Phil had assured me that I looked fine in it – what did he know about fashion? But we couldn't have afforded a new dress for me in any case, and Uncle Dick wouldn't have cared two hoots about how old my frock was. But I'd seen the look Margaret had given me, quickly assessing that I was no competition for her in the fashion stakes, and almost pitying me it seemed.

"Well mother, as I seem to recall you didn't…" I started to retort angrily, but I was interrupted as Mu brought over a plate of tiny, elegant cucumber sandwiches that had had the crusts cut off, to offer to my mother. Luckily that gave me just enough time to gather myself, and realise that there was nothing to be gained from rowing with her. So I swallowed my pride along with my cucumber sandwich, knowing that it would mean such a lot to Phil to be finally accepted by my family. And kudos to him if she had been won over by his efforts to impress her and had now decided that he was in fact a suitable, acceptable young man for her daughter. With supreme effort, I bit my tongue and let her waffle on, thinking to myself that Phil and I could have a good laugh about how ridiculous she was later on, when we would no doubt be in need of some cheering up.

**xXx**

"Well, it could have been worse," Phil tried to reassure me as we cuddled up in bed that night, trying to assimilate everything. "At least _half_ the farm is yours."

"Yes, but with Christopher owning the other half, how the hell are we going to come to any kind of agreement? Could we possibly afford to buy him out do you think Phil?" I asked anxiously.

Despite what Uncle Dick had told us, in the end he clearly hadn't been able to bring himself to cut my brother out of his will to leave the farm solely to me - he'd always had a soft spot for Christopher. But I remembered only too well my brother's accusation that Phil was just a gold digger, after me for my money, so somehow I couldn't see us being able to sort this out amicably in any way that would mean us being able to keep the farm.

"I'm sorry, but I don't really see how we can, my love. My father's farm was smaller than Havenhurst, and not in such a good location, so the money it brought in after it was sold and all the debts paid off is not going to equate to half of the value of this one I'm afraid. And if we took out a mortgage, it would be a huge commitment, a real financial burden for the rest of our lives. So I think the most sensible solution is going to have to be that Havenhurst is sold, and the money from your half, along with my savings, will help us to buy somewhere a bit smaller to start over."

"Oh but Phil, isn't there anyway that we could manage it? I'll try to make a bit more money to help out, I'll make more things to sell at the farm shop, cut back on everything that we can, I'll do anything if it means we can stay here," I pleaded, but knowing in my heart of hearts that what Phil was saying made sense.

"Look if there was any way that I thought we could do it, I'd jump at it, but I've been over and over the figures, and it would just stretch us too far, and I'm not prepared to risk it, however much we both want to stay here," Phil explained. I knew that he didn't want to leave any more than I did, but he was facing up to facts, and I realised that I had to as well.

So I finally accepted that it was no good hankering after something that wasn't meant to be. Phil and I were survivors, we would get on with things and make the best of it. My family were due to return to the farm in the morning to discuss all the details of the will. We had all needed time to take everything in, so Phil had suggested that they come back to the farm to talk things through before they returned to London in the morning, and they had agreed. I think everyone realised that the quickest way forward was to at least be civil to each other. And maybe, just maybe, my father and brother had warmed to Phil when he had shown them the farm accounts, which were clearly so efficient and accurate, with nothing hidden or underhand.

**xXx**

All six of us sat together round the kitchen table. Margaret sat right up close to my brother, putting her hand on his knee possessively as she seemed to need to touch him the whole time. She'd said very little so far, but she had a way of looking that clearly conveyed her opinion without the need for words. I saw her studying my engagement ring with a little supercilious sneer. Compared to the huge great rock that she was wearing on her finger, mine was tiny, but I was perfectly content with mine and wouldn't have wanted to swap it for one second. She looked around her at the kitchen and seemed to find it all rather distasteful, wrinkling her nose as if some unpleasant farmyard smells had wafted in.

My father spoke first.

"Well unless Christopher wishes to come and live in Cornwall to share the farm with Joan, which for a London surgeon isn't really an option, I think the simplest solution regarding the farm is that it now be sold, and everything be equally divided between the two of you. That is what Richard specified in his will isn't it?

"Well he didn't actually say that he wanted it sold. He loved this farm, and would have wanted it to be kept going rather than sold, I think you'll find," I pointed out. My father shot me a look of pure disdain.

"I discussed all the farm finances with your husband yesterday, man to man, and it is apparent to me that _he_ understands the realities of the situation even if you don't Joan. I think you should keep out of things that you don't understand and let us men deal with this."

I opened my mouth to argue back as I could hardly believe my ears. My father, telling me to listen to Phil, the man whose existence, up until yesterday, he had refused to even acknowledge to the world at all, never mind as my husband!

But before I could get the words out, my brother spoke up.

"Look dad, Margaret and I discussed this whole business last night, and the truth of the matter is that this place is of no interest to us, we would certainly never consider living down here, London is the only place for a top class surgeon."

I saw Margaret shudder with distaste at the mere thought of ever living on a dirty, smelly farm.

"And property down here is so dirt cheap compared to London, that frankly I can't see that it's even worth the bother of selling it when it's just small change for a surgeon like me. I mean, it's hardly as if I need the money is it?" he laughed, looking over at Margaret as he said this, and I could see Phil's face turning red as he was the one now fighting to keep calm at my brother's arrogant and condescending attitude. Cheap? Small change? Not to us it wasn't, and the way he was belittling the worth of the farm was making my blood boil too.

"So are you saying that you're letting Joan and…err…Philip have the farm?" My mother piped up, as she put her cup of tea down on the table. As I looked, I suddenly realised that she was putting it down on the _exact_ spot where Phil and I had got carried away recently, the exact place where we'd had sex, and I found myself staring at the table, and then raising my eyebrows at Phil to see if he realised too. He quickly cottoned on, and suddenly we were both smiling and it was all we could do to stop ourselves from bursting out laughing.

"Oh look, Christopher, you've made them so happy they just can't stop smiling, you are so kind and thoughtful and generous," she cooed at her precious son, now patting the same spot on the table with her hand to emphasise her point, and I had to bite my lip hard to stop a huge giggle from bursting out.

"Well I have to say that my new brother in law managed to rather impress me yesterday when he laid everything out on the table, seems he's been pretty good at getting on top of things and keeping up with the general thrust," Christopher said. Now I didn't dare look up at Phil as I stuffed my hankie in my mouth to stop myself from howling with laughter. My brother gave me a rather quizzical look, so I had to pretend to be overcome with emotion and cleared my throat as he carried on.

"So as everything seems to be in pretty good order under his efficient management, I really think the easiest thing is just to let them carry on living here. Selling the farm and so forth would just be too much effort for me to have to deal with right now. We surgeons have _far_ more important matters to attend to," he sighed self importantly, as Margaret simpered her agreement and squeezed his arm. My father was nodding his agreement too, completely ignoring me, which was probably a good thing as I was still struggling to compose myself.

"Look I really appreciate your offer, but I think it would only be right if we make some sort of financial arrangement to buy you out, make it all official and legal," Phil said, wanting to do things properly, as always.

"No need for all that. I've said you can stay here haven't I? All I ask is that you take good care of my little sister, she's just a young girl who needs a proper man to take care of business for her, a safe pair of hands."

"Oh I can assure you that she is in _very _safe hands with me, I'm more than up to taking care of business with Joan," Phil said completely straight faced, as he stared intently at the table. Then I saw him just slightly raise one eyebrow as he glanced at me, and I nearly choked on my tea again as I knew _exactly_ what he was thinking.

Once more I stifled the laughter that threatened to escape. What did it matter about the rubbish my brother was talking? He was letting us keep Havenhurst, and for that I would listen to any amount of drivel that he cared to spout.

**xXx**

That night we lay together in bed, as usual going over everything that had happened during the day.

"It's all very well your brother just flippantly saying 'oh you can stay on at the farm' but where does that leave things legally? I mean, don't get me wrong, of course I'm delighted that we don't have to sell up, but what's to stop him changing his mind one day to claim his half? I really think we ought to get some papers drawn up, to formalise things," Phil worried.

"Maybe you're right, but just let the dust settle a little bit first perhaps. I mean, it was all agreed, Christopher made it quite plain that this little smallholding is far beneath him and not even worth bothering with, didn't he?"

"He most certainly did. Your brother really is a smug git isn't he? Complete tosser," was Phil's considered opinion.

"Oh yes, I did warn you that all my family are ghastly, and now you've experienced them at first hand you can understand what I meant, can't you? But I have to hand it to you, I really don't know how you did it, but you completely charmed them all and won them over didn't you, you clever old stick!" I gave him a big kiss on his cheek as I hugged him in delight.

"Well your mother isn't really so bad, I soon worked out that she likes to be treated like royalty. As long as I doff my hat and bow and scrape to her, that should be enough to keep her sweet," he explained. "And your father is just old school, I can relate to him too. But your brother is something else, he has his head so far up his own arse that he doesn't know whether to speak or fart."

I burst out laughing at this as it was just so true. Since qualifying as a surgeon, he had become even more insufferable than ever, not helped by the fact that the gorgeous Margaret clearly adored him and hung onto his every word.

"Margaret is very beautiful isn't she? So slim and elegant," I sighed.

"If you say so, but she's not my type at all, just a skinny bag of bones with no proper baps to speak of, looks like she'd snap if you tried to give her a cuddle," Phil stated. "Where as you, well you're a _real_ woman, all curvy and womanly and…_Mmm _just gorgeous…"

Phil started to caress my breasts lovingly - there was no doubt about it, he was definitely a breast man. He only had to catch a glimpse of mine as I got undressed, and he'd be all over me like a rash, completely turned on and instantly aroused, as he clearly was now, nuzzling my neck and running his hands over my curves that he liked so much. We didn't bother with nightwear any more, now that we had the house to ourselves. It usually just got in the way and hindered things, especially as Phil could be very impatient when he was in the mood for some loving.

"Oh Phil, I nearly died when I looked at my mother, sitting there at the table with her cup of tea. If she'd had any inkling that we'd…you know…" I giggled again at the memory. It made a nice change to be laughing after all the tears of the last few weeks.

"What? That I'd given you a right good seeing to exactly where she was happily sipping her tea?" Phil had a very wicked smile on his face as he graphically described the scene.

"Well I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but yes actually," I admitted.

"What she doesn't know about won't hurt her will it? Now I promised your brother that I was up to taking care of business with you, so if you don't mind, I think it's about time I kept that promise," Phil murmured as he pulled me closer to him.

"Oh, you're always up for business Philip Norton, no doubt about that," I whispered back, as I felt the indisputable evidence pressing up against me.

Who cared about my stupid family – we could stay at Havenhurst, and that's all that really mattered to us.

_A/N WI stands for Women's Institute._


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 16**

"What, he wants you to go up to London right now?" Phil asked, clearly taken by surprise.

"Well tomorrow, so that I'll be there to help bring Margaret and the baby home from the hospital. Apparently it had all been arranged with the agency that a nanny would be in place, but they've let them down at the last moment, and now they can't supply anyone for another week. And Christopher doesn't want Margaret to stay any longer in hospital, he thinks she needs to come home, seems she's a bit run down because she had rather a hard time giving birth as he was such a big baby," I explained.

"Isn't there anyone else they could ask? You hardly know Margaret after all, what about her family, couldn't they help out?"

"Apparently her parents and her sister Ruth are all out in America, her father is a diplomat over there or something. And as for my family, could you honestly imagine _my _mother helping out?"

"What 'her majesty' mucking in to change nappies? No, I can't see that happening somehow," Phil agreed.

"So I've said I'll go, you don't really mind do you ?"

"Well I suppose not, we are still in your brother's debt after all" Phil agreed reluctantly. Despite several attempts on his part over the last nine months, nothing had been sorted out with regard to formalising our ownership of the farm.

"And it means I get to see the baby, my new little nephew, I don't know when I would have done otherwise," I pointed out.

"OK, I'll just have to manage without you for a week, won't I then?"

"There's plenty of food for you, and I'll ask Helen to pop over from next door to keep an eye on you if you like," I offered. Helen had quite a soft spot for my Phil, so I was sure she would be more than happy to bring him over a meal now and then.

"I'll be fine, don't you worry. The bed will just seem rather cold and empty without you, that's all," he told me as he gave me a big hug. We hadn't actually spent a night apart since we'd been married.

"It's only for a week, it'll soon fly by" I told him as I kissed his cheek.

**xXx**

I had to admit that Margaret did look poorly when we arrived at the private hospital where she had given birth. She was very pale with dark circles under her eyes, and was just sitting on the bed listlessly. The baby was in the hospital crib next to her.

"Margaret, congratulations on your little boy!" I said, as I went over and pecked her cheek. She didn't really respond at all, she just looked at my brother.

"Can we go now, please?" she pleaded, as she clutched at his sleeve.

"Yes, of course, that's what we've come for. And Joan's here to help look after the baby, so that you can rest and recuperate, then you'll soon be back to your normal self in no time at all," Christopher replied, as he prised Margaret's hand from his sleeve.

"Oh he's just gorgeous," I cried, as I looked in the crib. Lying there was the most perfect little baby, fast asleep. He had soft downy blonde hair, and long lashes curled on his cheek. I couldn't help myself, I just had to brush my finger against his perfect soft skin, and then put my finger in his tiny clenched hand.

"Sorry, I should have asked you first before I touched him, he's your baby after all," I suddenly thought.

"Oh no, go ahead, you're going to be looking after him anyway," Margaret shuddered, not even looking over at her baby, just looking at her husband instead.

"Well, come on then, let's get going, I haven't got all day, I've got to get back to work," my brother said, picking up Margaret's case and helping her towards the door.

"Oh right, I'll just bring the baby shall I then?" I said to their retreating backs, as they appeared to have forgotten all about their son.

So I carefully picked him up and cuddled him closely as he gently stirred and yawned very sweetly. He was a little bundle of warmth and softness, and I fell in love with him instantly.

**xXx**

Margaret showed no interest whatsoever in the baby. She didn't want him to sleep in the same room as her, so his crib had been put in my room. The nursery was just next door, and had been beautifully and expensively kitted out. She clearly had no intention of breast feeding, so I was the one that gave him his bottle. I had no experience at all of babies, but I quickly learnt, and soon got into a routine with him, giving him his bottle every fours hours or so. I loved cuddling him, feeling his soft little head nestling against me as I held him. I loved how he had such a wonderful unique baby smell. I loved his tiny little fingers and toes. I just loved everything about him, and didn't even mind changing his nappy once I'd figured out the best way to fold the terry towelling nappy, having read the baby book that was on the shelf in the nursery. I loved how his little legs kicked about when I did, and I loved patting his gorgeous little bottom as I powdered him.

One morning towards the end of the week, I'd fed the baby, winded him, changed and cuddled him, and he was now sleeping quietly in my arms. He really was such a good little baby, hardly any trouble at all as long as he was fed, changed and cuddled regularly. I took him into Margaret, where she was lying on the couch, fully dressed and made up.

"Would you like to hold him?" I offered, thinking she would surely want to see her baby, now that she was rested and feeling better.

"No. He might mess up my dress. Chris hates me looking a state you know," she said, looking out of the window.

"Oh come on, he's asleep, he won't hurt you," I tried to persuade her.

"I said _no_, alright?" she snapped at me.

I was rather taken aback by her response, and not sure what to say next, as I continued to cuddle her son.

"So, ermm… have you two chosen a name for him yet? Can't keep calling him 'the baby', can we?" I asked.

"We haven't really had time to think about it yet," Margaret replied in an irritated voice.

My brother seemed to be working extremely long hours considering he had just become a father, but I supposed that he had heavy responsibilities as a surgeon at St George's. He had hardly seen his son, or anyone really, since we'd all come home from hospital.

"Well you must have some ideas surely? How about George, after his grandfather?"

Margaret just pulled a face at my suggestion.

"What about looking through that baby name book I saw you had in the nursery? I could get it for you, then you could make a short list and see what Chris thinks of the ones you pick out? How about that, seeing as you'll have to register his birth soon won't you?" I tried to get her interest as I gently rocked her son in my arms as he carried on sleeping, blissfully unaware of his mother's disinterest.

"I suppose I could, get it out of the way," she sighed.

"Look I'll go and put this little one down for his nap in his pram, then we can sit down together hmm?" I offered.

Margaret just nodded at me, so I went ahead and got the book, once the baby was happily settled in the beautiful big pram that had been bought for him from Harrods, no doubt the latest top of the range model. It sat in the hall of their big town house, which was located in Kensington, very convenient for all the best shopping.

"Here we are then. Have you had _any_ thoughts at all for a name? Hasn't Christopher come up with any suggestions?"

I found it really odd, that they didn't seem to have any names in mind at all, even though their child had made his arrival into the world. Phil and I already had some names in mind for when we started a family. Actually, Phil had been hinting very strongly lately that maybe we should start trying for a baby, now that we had been married nearly two years, and he was approaching his thirtieth birthday. It was me that was holding back, knowing that I would be very much more tied down once a baby came along.

"We don't discuss… it… him… the baby. If you must know, neither of us really wanted a baby, he was a mistake, an accident, all because I forgot to pack something when we came down for your Uncle's funeral in blasted Cornwall, that's when I got pregnant. You see, I never say no to Chris because he'll only find…well anyway, if I'd had my way…" Margaret hesitated, seeing the look on my face.

"If you'd had your way, what…?"

"I'd have got rid of it, if you must know! I've _hated_ being pregnant, being so fat, so ugly, and so undesirable! But Chris wouldn't hear of it, too frightened to risk damaging his precious reputation if word had got out that I'd had an abortion. But he won't come near me now, finds me repulsive. Why do you think he's never here? He's such a good looking and charming man, he'll have no problem getting someone else to satisfy his needs, probably one of the nurses at the hospital, someone all slim and beautiful, just like I used to be!"

"Margaret, I'm sure you're wrong…" I tried to say.

"Giving birth, the excruciating agony of being torn apart to get it out, then being stuck in that hospital room with it all the time, I couldn't stand it ,so I told them to take it away to the nursery. Then when the agency said it would be another week before they could supply a suitable nanny, well I just flipped, and that's when Chris rang you, got you to come. I knew you'd be good with the baby, your sort always are, mother earth types, not worried what they look like."

I listened in astonishment, never having heard Margaret say more than a couple of words at a time, unable to comprehend how she didn't seem to have any maternal feelings whatsoever for the child she had carried for nine months.

"Oh don't look at me like that! We're not all cut out to be mothers you know, and I'm just being honest for God's sake! I can't pretend to be something I'm not. Once the professional nanny gets here, she'll tend to all his needs, it's not as if he'll be neglected after all."

"But he's such a lovely baby, he's so good, surely…" I just couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Give me the wretched book," she said, as she snatched it out of my hands.

With that, she flipped the book open at a random page, ran her finger down and then stopped about half way down.

"Martin. That'll do. His name is Martin, OK? Now go away and leave me alone!"

**xXx**

Phil picked me up from the station when I returned from my week in London. I was very quiet on the way back, while Phil chattered on about what had gone on during my absence, but he kept looking over at me.

"Are you alright? You seem awfully quiet my love," he asked eventually.

"I'm fine, really, just a bit tired from doing all those night feeds," I said.

Truth of the matter was I was feeling so torn. It had been such a wrench to hand little Marty – Martin seemed far too grown up a name for such a little baby – over to the professional nanny. I'd tried to tell her about him, how he always liked to be cuddled until he went to sleep, but she didn't want to listen.

"I can assure you I know all about babies, doesn't do to pander to them you know. Nanny knows best," she told me as she whisked him off to the nursery, and before I knew it, I was on the train bound for Cornwall. I couldn't wait to get home, to see Phil, but my heart also desperately ached for that little baby. I could only hope that as his parents got used to having a baby around, they would grow to love him and treasure him as I had from the very first moment I'd seen him.

As soon as we walked into the kitchen back at Havenhurst, I threw myself into Phil's arms and burst into tears.

"Hey, hey, what's all this?" Phil asked in surprise, as he held me tight.

"Oh Phil, he's such a lovely baby, but Margaret isn't interested in him in the slightest, she's so cold towards him. I tried to talk to my brother about her, but he just told me that she's a bit tired, that it'll all be just fine, and it's not my problem," I sobbed at him.

"Well, maybe he's right, perhaps it takes time to adjust," he tried to console me.

"But I loved him straight away, and he's not even my baby is he?"

"That's cos you're a special kind of woman," he told me tenderly.

"Phil, I want a baby of my own, as soon as possible. So let's just get on with making one right now, please?" I begged him, as I took his hand and led him towards the stairs, before I'd even taken my coat off.

"Your wish is my command," Phil laughed, only too happy to oblige, as he followed me up.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 17**

Phone calls from my brother asking me to help with the care of his son became a regular occurrence. It was always him, never Margaret who rang. The Nannies that they hired from the top agency in London never seemed to stay long. No doubt these women all had the necessary professional qualifications to ensure that the prestigious agency could charge an arm and a leg for their services, but I couldn't help wondering if it wouldn't have been better for them to just simply hire a local girl, one who actually liked babies and children. But of course that wasn't the done thing in the circles that Christopher and Margaret moved in.

Naturally I never said no to looking after little Marty, but I couldn't keep going up to London, so sometimes the Nanny was despatched on the train to bring him down to us in Cornwall as her last duty, and then we would meet her at the station to take charge of her precious cargo. Sometimes Christopher made a flying visit down to Cornwall, usually if he had a new car that he wanted to test out. Each time we had Marty it took a few days for him to settle, as the poor little soul didn't know where he was. He was just a little baby and naturally didn't understand what was happening. But I found that if I gave him lots of attention and cuddles, he eventually calmed down and settled with us, usually just in time for him to return to London because the latest Nanny had been installed.

"They're just using us, you do realise that don't you?" grumbled Phil. But I knew he never minded having the baby, and soon became a dab hand at holding him and giving him a bottle, and I often found that being in Phil's big strong arms seemed to calm Marty down, I think because he felt secure. We gradually built up our own baby equipment, from various friends in the village, thinking that we would need it any case when our own baby came along.

I was very surprised that after several months of very enthusiastic baby making attempts, I wasn't pregnant yet. I'd always assumed that it would happen pretty much straight away, and that in the past we'd had several lucky escapes on the occasions when we'd failed to use protection. Phil didn't seem too worried though, I think he was just enjoying all the practising trying for a baby involved.

"You worry too much. Just relax and let nature take its course," he told me.

**xXx**

But after we'd been trying for a baby for a year with no luck, I decided that it was time to go and see the doctor. Phil refused point blank to come with me, he hated going to the doctors or anything to do with hospitals. I didn't see any point in trying to force him, so I decided that it was best for me just to go and have a chat with Doctor Sim on my own first, and see what he had to say.

"Do you have a normal, regular menstrual cycle?" Doctor Sim enquired, once I'd explained why I was there.

I assured him that I did. Twenty eight days, still disappointingly regular as clockwork every month.

"And you are having full intercourse, and your husband definitely achieves his climax and ejaculates?" Doctor Sim asked.

"Yes, of course," I said, rather put out that he felt he even had to ask, and clearly my face showed my reaction.

"Sorry, but I do have to establish all the basics. You see believe it or not, not everyone fully understands the mechanics of what is actually necessary to get pregnant. So, how often do you have intercourse?"

"Well, it depends, but probably one or twice a day on average, so there's no problem there I can assure you," I told him.

"Actually I'm afraid that may well be the problem. A man's sperm level needs time to build up, so by having sex so often you're not allowing his levels sufficient time to replenish. Cut down on the number of times you have sex, and then go for it around the middle of the month, because that's your most fertile time. But try not to worry, I doubt very much there's anything wrong with a healthy young couple like you two," he reassured me.

**xXx**

"That sounds like a load of old codswallop to me. How can having _less_ sex make you _more_ likely to get pregnant?" Phil grumbled.

"That's what Doctor Sim said. Can't hurt to give it a go, can it, not if it means I get pregnant? Please Phil, it could be fun, it'll make it more special when we do…you know," I cajoled him.

"Oh Ok, I suppose it can't hurt, can it," he agreed rather reluctantly.

But that didn't work. Neither did any of the other suggestions. There was the one about having sex in a different position to aid conception – Phil was quite keen on that one, but it made no difference. There was the helpful advice not to smoke or drink, but as neither of us smoked, and hardly ever drank, that was not helpful at all. And so it went on over the years.

Finally Doctor Sim sent me to the hospital for some tests, to see if I had blocked tubes. In a cruel twist to things, the ward where I was to stay overnight was next to the maternity unit, and I could see all the pregnant women, some of whom were young girls who didn't even want their babies, and I could hear the babies crying. By the time Phil came to collect me, I was in floods of tears as he found me staring into the nursery at all the babies.

"It's not fair! We'd make good parents wouldn't we? So how come they get to have a baby when they don't even want one, but we don't?"

"Look, don't worry, it'll be our turn soon. The next time you're in here it'll be because you're having our baby, eh love?" Phil tried to reassure me. He was always so kind, so supportive and understanding, and endlessly patient with me. I felt so terribly guilty that I didn't seem able to give him the family that he deserved.

**xXx**

But even after my trip to the hospital and I'd been given the all clear, there was still no baby. When I went back to Doctor Sim this time, he sat back in his chair and looked over at me.

"Your husband, Phil," he started to ask me.

"What about him?"

"Has he ever had mumps?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Mumps can cause orchitis, which affect a man's fertility, although it is quite rare and unusual," he explained.

"What you mean it could be Phil rather than me that has the problem? No, surely not, he's so…so virile, and well… active," I tried to explain.

"It's just a thought. Send him in to see me and I'll arrange for him to have some tests, wouldn't harm to rule it out would it?" Doctor Sim suggested.

**xXx**

"Yea, I had mumps as a kid, I was proper poorly with it as I recall. Why do you ask?" Phil enquired.

I suddenly had the most terrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. How on earth was I going to tell Phil that his childhood illness may well be the cause of our childless state? We had always assumed that the problem lay with me, and Phil had been so endlessly patient and understanding and supportive to me, but I knew that he would be devastated if it now transpired that he was the one with the problem. Maybe it was best not to delve any further, just let things stay as they were, I thought to myself. But it was too late. Even as I tried to brush aside my query, the penny had begun to drop for Phil.

"Very poorly indeed I was, because my goolies swelled right up and it was bloody painful. You don't think…? Is that what the Doc said, that it could have affected my chances of fathering a child?"

"Oh I don't know Phil, it's probably got nothing to do with it," I said evasively. But finally Phil went to see Doctor Sim.

**xXx**

Phil was completely and utterly distraught when the results of the tests came through and confirmed that he was sterile.

"I caught you on a lie Joan. When we got married, I promised to make you happy, and you told me how important having a family was to you, and I can't give you that. You deserve a proper man, and I'm not," he told me in total despair.

I tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that we would work things out, that I still loved him no matter what, but he totally withdrew from me. It was as if his very manhood had been taken from him, that he'd been emasculated. I tried to take him in my arms, to hold him and reassure him, but he pushed me away, he wouldn't let me near him, as he tried to come to terms with the fact that in his eyes he wasn't a proper man. He'd always been so proud of the fact that he was a very active lover, and he'd expected to father a whole brood of children. I knew he wouldn't have minded if we'd had a honeymoon baby, in fact I think he would have been quite proud if we had, it would have lived up to the image everyone had of him, that a man like him would only have to look at me to get me pregnant. He just couldn't come to terms with the fact that his whole life had been a lie in his eyes, and he fell into a deep depression, refusing to discuss anything with me.

Things were never the same for us again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 18**

"Watch out you stupid oaf! Can't you look where you're going" I called out as my box of vegetables was sent flying from my arms by a man pushing past me as I made my way over to the Farm Produce shop.

"Sorry, I didn't see you," responded the melodic voice of someone who was clearly not a local.

I looked up to see a very tall, very good looking dark haired man of a similar age to me standing there, and I felt my heart lurch as I looked into his deep velvety brown eyes. He looked down at me with a slightly amused smile playing around his mouth, and as we both bent down to retrieve the carrots that had fallen to the floor, our hands touched, and what felt like a bolt of electricity shot through me. From the look on his face, he experienced the same sensation, and he just carried on staring at me, seemingly rooted to the spot.

"Well, no harm done I suppose," I said, as I pulled myself together, and gathered up my vegetables.

"Look let me help you, it's the least I can do, I'm such a clumsy idiot, you'd think I'd have learnt to look where I was going by now wouldn't you?" The man tried to take the box from me, but I kept hold of it.

"It's fine, no problem, really," I assured him and carried on into the shop. My heart seemed to be racing in a most unusual way, and my hand was still tingling from the contact with this stranger.

I saw in the reflection in the window that the man just stood there and watched as I went in, and when I came out again a few minutes later, he was still stood there waiting.

"Let me buy you a drink to say sorry, make amends, I'm John Slater by the way, I've just moved down here, don't want to start off by offending the locals now do I?" he said.

"That really isn't necessary, and anyway I don't have the time I'm afraid. Busy farm to run," I told him, as I headed for the pick up truck.

"Well maybe I'll bump into you again sometime when you're in the village, but next time I promise not to cause any damage," he said, as he closed the car door for me.

Afterwards, I found myself thinking about this John Slater, about how my heart had done a loop the loop and my pulse had raced as we'd touched, and my curiosity was piqued, so I found myself listening intently as Maggie Stubs, who was his cleaning lady, happily gossiped about him as she waited in the queue in front of me in the Post Office a couple of days later.

"Moved down here from London cos he's got a boat and likes to go sailing round here. He's some sort of dealer in stocks and shares, spends ages on the phone every afternoon and evening, and he's got some sort of fancy telex machine, gets stuff from all over the world."

"And is there a Mrs Slater then?" her friend asked. A good looking man like him had naturally stirred quite a lot of interest in the village.

"Nope. I'd say he's not the marrying sort if you get my drift. More like the type to have a girl in every port."

I heard enough to convince me that I really should try to put this John Slater character out of my head – I was a married woman for goodness sake, not some silly teenager going weak at the knees over a good looking stranger.

However, it was not to be, because as I made my way out of the post office, I literally bumped into him again.

"Oh now look, this is just too much of a coincidence wouldn't you say? Clearly our paths are destined to cross for some reason," John laughed.

"It's a small village. It happens that way sometimes," I said, as I tried to avoid him and get past. I didn't dare look up at him again, in case he had the same affect on me again.

"Joan Norton isn't it? From Havenhurst Farm. I asked about you at the farm shop," he explained, as I now looked at him in surprise.

"Then you'll also know that I'm happily married," I informed him.

"Married yes. Happily…well that's another question," he commented, as he stared intently at me.

"How dare you! That is none of your business, whatever gossip or tittle tattle you may have heard," I told him angrily. Naturally everyone had seen for themselves the change in Phil, and had no doubt drawn their own conclusions.

"I know you felt it too, that spark, that connection between us. It's a gift, it doesn't happen very often in a lifetime you know, some people never experience it at all. So you shouldn't ignore it," he said very softly, as he reached for my hand to take it in his. Once more I felt a shock race through me and my heart lurched alarmingly. "See, you can't deny it's there can you?"

And somehow, before I knew it, I had started an affair with John Slater, something I'd never have believed that I was capable of.

**xXx**

When Phil had found out that he would never be able to father any children, he fell into a deep depression. He offered to leave, to give me a divorce to allow me to start afresh with another man, one that could give me the baby I craved. He became impotent, he couldn't even contemplate making love to me any more because it only served as a reminder to him that he was a failure, that he was not a complete man in his eyes. Everything seemed so very pointless to him, and I think he seriously considered taking his own life, and I was very worried for him. But in the end I don't think he bring himself to go down that route, knowing how difficult it would have been for me, so he just immersed himself in working harder than ever on the farm.

I told him that I still loved him, that we would still have a good life together even if things hadn't turned out as we'd expected, and that I didn't want a divorce. But in truth I was lonely, and I desperately missed the Phil that I had married, he'd gone forever it seemed now. Friends suggested that we look into adoption, but with the fragile state of mind that Phil was in, I didn't think that was a good idea. An adopted child would surely only serve as another reminder every day of his own sterility. So I accepted my lot in life, that I would never have a baby of my own. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but what choice did I have realistically?

Little Marty had been packed off to boarding school by his parents at the earliest opportunity, so his visits became less frequent but more structured as we knew he would at least be staying with us for the long summer holidays. His parents seemed keen for him to stay at school for the holidays whenever possible, 'less disruption to his routine' was how my brother explained it. Less bother for them more like, having to arrange for his transportation to Cornwall and back was the truth of the matter I believed. How cruel, how ironic that they had been blessed with a child that they didn't want or deserve, while Phil and I had been denied the chance to give a child of our own a loving home. Life could be incredibly unfair it seemed.

But at least when Marty came to stay for the summer holidays, he seemed to bring out a little bit of the old Phil. He was so wonderfully patient with the shy, quiet very introverted little boy, who always had terrible nightmares and wet the bed when he first arrived for the summer. It was as if Phil had some understanding of his inner torment, and so he would just quietly deal with him, not make a fuss or drama out of any of it, and Marty responded to this very well and soon became relaxed in the company of his Uncle Phil.

During the day, if the weather was fine, I would often take Marty out for a picnic or to the beach, sometimes just the two of us, sometimes with Muriel or Helen if they were free. If it was raining, I would usually do some cooking, and Marty quite liked to help with that too. Just because he was a boy I didn't see why he shouldn't learn to cook – it would always be a useful skill after all, and he seemed to really enjoy it most of the time, despite Phil's rather sceptical view on the matter.

In the evenings after supper, Phil would often have a little project on the go that he would sit and tinker with at the kitchen table, and Marty would sit with him and get involved as Phil explained what he was doing. One of the projects he had was an old clock that had belonged to Uncle Dick, a very delicate and intricate carriage clock. I think it had originally been a wedding present, but it had never worked in all the time I'd seen it around, it was just kept as a sentimental ornament really.

"You see Marty, I think I know what's wrong with it, but it's so tiny that my big hands are struggling to work on it," Phil explained.

"Can I have a go with it Uncle Phil? I think I might be able to fix it, and I promise I'll be really careful with it," offered Marty earnestly.

"Sure son. Got nothing to lose have we, it's certainly no good to anyone as it is now," Phil told him with a smile, delighted at his interest. And so Marty happily became engrossed in his new project.

**xXx**

My lover John was highly skilled and experienced in the bedroom. He believed that making love was an art, one that shouldn't be rushed, that every avenue should be explored in order to reach the highest plane of ecstasy. He took great pride in his abilities and was completely uninhibited.

I was shocked initially at some of the techniques he used and the things he did to me, but I was intoxicated, unable to resist him, the chemistry between us was incredibly strong, and so with his encouragement, I let myself go. I'd never experienced anything like this with Phil, and I was simply unable to stop myself once we embarked on our affair, despite it being totally against everything I believed in.

John used his hands, his fingers, his lips, his tongue on my body in ways and positions that I could never have imagined or dreamed of before. He'd spend ages on exquisite foreplay, bringing me again and again to the very edge, before finally allowing me my release. Then he'd start over again so that we could climb together, but he always put my pleasure first, it almost seemed to give him more satisfaction than his own release.

He was about as opposite to Phil as it was possible to be. John was tall and slim with dark hair and brown eyes. Phil was blonde, stocky and blue eyed. Phil was a practical, hands on type of man, John had delicate office workers hands. I hadn't realised before that Phil was actually very well endowed. I was very ignorant in these matters as I hadn't had anyone to compare him with before, so I had been rather surprised at the difference when I'd seen John naked, but he soon proved to me that size really didn't matter, it was what you did with it that was important. And John most certainly knew what to do with his.

I'd always had a lot in common with Phil, our paths had run alongside when I'd come to live on the farm, and so had pushed us together. I had virtually nothing in common with John at all, except this amazing magnetism and attraction that bound us together. I was under no illusions, clearly John had had many lovers, but he told me that he had never had this kind of a bond with any other woman before, that I was the only one that he had ever connected with in this way. A little inner voice in my head remained sceptical, but I was swept away by the sheer intensity of our affair. I knew it wasn't Phil's fault that he had never acquired the lovemaking skills that John had, and that as far as Phil had been concerned, being a good lover had meant being able to perform at the drop of the hat which he'd always been able to do, but now I realised that our lovemaking had rarely ever lasted longer than ten minutes or so. Of course he never made love to me at all now, and so I revelled in feeling like a desirable woman again, pushing all my doubts and worries to the back of my mind.

And when John told me that he was moving to Hong Kong and wanted me to go with him, I began to seriously consider going with him.

**xXx**

"Bring him along, we'll take him out on my boat. He'll love it," John suggested when I told him that we couldn't meet up very often while Marty was staying, and against my better judgement I agreed. But when I told Marty about this boat trip, he was not at all happy about it.

"I don't like boats, if you recall I was sick on the ferry last time, Auntie Joan," Marty informed me, in his usual serious manner.

"This is different, it's just a small boat. It's very nice of Mr. Slater to offer to take us out as a special favour," I told him, but he remained unconvinced.

Phil listened to our conversation but said nothing. I'd explained to him that John Slater was a friend of Muriel's husband, which was true, they were both into sailing and both had their own boats. Phil had also said nothing about me seeming to have to go into the village more frequently these days, and spending longer there. I always went to John's house or boat in the mornings. His business meant that he dealt with people on the other side of the world, so he was busy doing his deals in the afternoons and evenings, and as Phil was always busy on the farm in the mornings, this arrangement seemed to work out well.

On the fateful day of our outing, it was clear that John was not a natural with children, having openly admitted to me previously that he had no interest in having a family of his own. It was also clear that Marty hated him on sight. The outing was a disaster, and culminated with us having to come back early because Marty had wet himself, and I hadn't thought to pack a spare pair of pants and trousers for him because he had been so much better of late. He never wet himself when he was with Phil, but now, because he clearly felt stressed and unhappy, his old affliction had reappeared. I could see the look of disgust on John's face, and no doubt Marty did too.

That night I watched Phil sitting patiently with Marty as the young lad proudly showed him how he'd managed to fix the carriage clock so that it was keeping perfect time now. I looked at the two blonde heads bent over the clock, and then as they both looked up at me with their blue eyes, it suddenly hit me. What on earth was I doing having an affair and thinking of leaving? I found my eyes were filling with tears, so I quickly rushed out of the room and made my way to our bedroom so that Marty wouldn't see me crying, but I knew that Phil had seen the look on my face.

Later that night as we lay in bed, Phil quietly asked me,

"Are you leaving me for him? Are you going abroad with him? Is that why you were upset this evening?"

So he'd known all along. I should've guessed that it wouldn't take long for gossip to start, however discreet we thought we'd been. And this man had just quietly let me carry on when he must have been going through hell.

"No. I'm not Phil. This is my home, here with you and Marty. I'm not going anywhere, that is as long as you want me to stay," I told him emotionally.

"Thank God," he croaked, as he took me in his arms and quietly sobbed.

**xXx**

"So you're choosing Phil over me then? Staying with him in a loveless marriage when you could come with me and experience life outside the narrow confines of Cornwall," John stated, upset and disappointed. Clearly he was restless and had got bored with Cornwall, and now this opportunity had come along, he was jumping at it.

"It's not a loveless marriage John, that's the thing. There's all sorts of love you know, and yes, you are the great love of my life in so many ways. But I can't do it to Phil, I couldn't live with myself. And we're going to ask my brother again about adopting Marty, informally if not officially, so that he could go to school down here and live with us."

The nightmares and bedwetting had started again for Marty now that the end of the summer holidays were fast approaching. Phil was very upset to see the boy, who was the nearest thing he had to a son, so distressed.

"So you're going to break my heart instead are you?" John said bitterly.

"You'll soon get over it. Find the next project to educate in all matters sexual," I told him breezily.

"No Joan, it's not like that, not with you. I told you, you're different from anyone else I've ever met."

But as he couldn't persuade me, he went off to the other side of the world without me.

**xXx**

"I will not be allowing my son to stay under your roof again Joan. I will not have him learning his morals from a woman such as you, one capable of such moral turpitude."

I was stunned. Marty was now sitting in the back of his father's car, his sad little face looking out of the window towards the farm where Phil was waving to him. Luckily we hadn't mentioned anything to him about asking if he could live with us permanently, knowing that it was at best a very long shot that my brother would ever agree. He considered it far more important that his son went to the right schools, rather than whether he was happy there or not. That seemed to be totally irrelevant to him or Margaret, in fact they seemed to think it would do him good, toughen him up.

"Oh yes, I've heard all about your sordid affair, surely you didn't expect you'd be able to keep it secret in a place like this did you?" he told me from his high horse. I think he'd stopped in the village on the way here, and clearly he had picked up on something.

"You've got it all wrong. It's over, he's leaving, Phil and I are starting over," I tried to explain.

"You've done it once, no doubt you'll do it again. I can't have the boy exposed to that kind of behaviour."

"But Marty loves it here, he's settled and happy when he's here with us, surely that means something to you?" I begged.

"Only because you spoil him and give in to his weaknesses. But not any more. He's nearly eleven years old now, so from now on he's old enough to stay at school, where they won't baby him. They'll lick him into shape and make a proper man of him."

And with that he got in his car and drove off, and little Marty never came and stayed with us again.

**xXx**

It wasn't all that long after this that Phil started to display some worrying symptoms. He was tired all the time, he seemed to drop things more frequently, and sometimes he slurred his speech, as if he'd been drinking even though I knew he hadn't. He was extremely reluctant to go to see the doctor, but as time went on he got worse and then he developed muscle twitches as well, so he finally realised that he couldn't ignore things any longer, he had to go to see Doctor Sim.

After numerous referrals and tests, Phil got his diagnosis. Motor Neurone Disease. A horrid disease that leads to a horrid, slow, lingering death.

I felt that life couldn't get any more unfair. Why had Phil been dealt such an unfair hand in life? He really didn't deserve any of it, he was such a good man, I ranted at God in my despair.

"Well now at least I can see that it was a blessed relief that we didn't have kids Joan. I wouldn't have wanted to pass this on to a child of ours, and I wouldn't have wanted them see me go like this. Maybe you should just put me in a home, it's not fair on you either to have to look after me," Phil told me as he tried to come to terms with it.

I don't think I ever really came to terms with it, but I'd married him 'in sickness and in health' and I was determined to keep true to that part of my marriage vows even if I'd failed in others, so I nursed him as best I could all through the horrid, undignified stages of his dreadful illness, and it was out of love for him that I was relieved when he finally passed away in his sleep. I just wished that I could have done a better job in looking after him because he truly deserved it.

So now I was completely on my own for the first time in my life. Everyone thought that I would sell the farm, that it would be too much for me to cope with on my own, but Phil, bless him, ever the prudent and careful financial manager, had taken out several life insurance policies when we had first married, so I had enough money to tide me over for now, and working on the farm was just what I needed to restore my soul, and so I threw myself into it wholeheartedly. Of course I had to cut back on some parts of it that I just couldn't cope with, but mostly I just got on with it.

And so the years clicked by. I always worried about my little Marty. I didn't hear from him or his parents at all for some years. But eventually when Marty started at medical school, I got a letter from him giving me his new address. I think he wanted me to know that he was making his own way in life now, that he was independent from his parents, so I wrote back to him, and from then on we kept in regular touch.

He even brought his girlfriend down to visit one time. Edith Montgomery. I could see instantly that she wasn't right for him, but I could also see that he was head over heels in love with her, his first true love I suppose. I was horrified when he told me he wanted to marry her but I didn't dare criticise her for fear that Marty would shut me out, so I just hoped that he would come to his senses in time. In the end she went off to Canada for her career, leaving a heart broken young man behind. I think he decided after that not to bother with romance and love, so he immersed himself in his career, becoming a top swanky surgeon, just like his father. I didn't see him for some years, but he kept in touch, sending me a hamper from Harrods at Christmas, and flowers on my birthday – or at least I suspected that his secretary did.

And then one day out of the blue, I got a phone call from him, telling me that he was considering moving to Cornwall, to Portwenn, that he was shortly being interviewed to replace Jim Sim who had recently kicked the bucket, and then after that it wasn't long before I learnt that he had been successful and would shortly be moving to Cornwall to become our new GP.

For him to have undertaken such a drastic change to his career, I knew that there had to be more to this than met the eye, but decided that I would have to wait until he moved down here to get to the bottom of things.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 19**

"Stupid bloody tractor," I muttered to myself, as I tinkered with the engine – ruddy thing had refused to start yet again. Phil had always been impressed by the fact that I didn't mind having a go at anything at all on the farm, and so he had shown me how to fix all the basic things that could go wrong with an engine. And over the years I'd been more than glad that he had. The insurance money that I'd received after Phil's death had long since run out, and times were tight, so I simply couldn't afford to pay a mechanic to fix it, and a new one was out of the question. I was disturbed from my activities by the approach of a very tall, smartly dressed man in a dark blue suit. I dropped what I was doing immediately once I realised who it was.

"Little Marty!"

"Auntie Joan!"

I hugged this great big giant, who would always be 'little Marty' to me. My precious nephew was finally here, back in the village. I was thrilled, and he looked pleased to see me too. It had been a while now since I'd last seen him, but we'd spoken on the phone a few times recently, which was how I'd learnt, to my great shock and surprise, that he was going to be the new GP in our village. I was determined to find out the reasons behind his sudden career change, but all in good time.

"Some arse tried to run me off the road. Came at me in a narrow lane," he complained. I looked over to see a beautiful, shiny, flashy and no doubt very expensive silver car parked on the drive. Just like his father then, who'd always had the latest, top of the range car whenever he'd visited.

"Are you a man or a mouse? Those lanes have _bags_ of room," I admonished him. He sounded just like a typical 'down from town' emmet. If he planned on living in the area, the narrow roads were something he was going to have to get used to. "You'll stay for chicken?"

He reluctantly followed me as I went into the chicken coop to select a suitable bird. Even as a small boy, he'd hated getting dirty, and try as I might I had been unable to get him really involved in helping with my hens. He'd always been such a serious little boy, happiest reading or studying, although Phil had managed to get him interested in tinkering with clocks, and had been very impressed with how quickly he had figured out how to fix the delicate workings.

"Very clever lad that. Just needs to come out of himself a bit more, learn to mix a bit," had been his assessment of the painfully shy little Marty. He'd have been so proud to see him now as a surgeon, but still, it was hard to imagine that troubled little boy as a leading vascular specialist at a big London hospital.

"You know I still can't get used to the idea of you as a surgeon," I voiced my thoughts.

"Well now you only have to get used to the idea of me as a GP," he replied, somewhat bitterly it seemed to me. Yes, there was most definitely more to this than met the eye.

"Last time you were here, you got a splinter in your finger on the beach and you cried," I reminded him.

"I was seven!"

"You were nearly eleven, and you wet the bed! Not exactly the stuff of which surgeons are made, hm?"

I caught a chicken and felt the breast to assess if it was plump enough to provide a tasty meal for us.

"Right, hang on to this one." I passed the chicken to Martin even though I could see he really didn't want to handle it. "You know I always hoped that you'd grow up not looking like your father, but there you go. You as stubborn as he is too? Yes of course you are."

Martin had certainly taken after his tall, blonde father with his looks, and not his dark, petite mother.

"Have you heard from him?" I asked, as I looked for another chicken to compare and make sure I'd picked the best one out.

"No." Martin replied very succinctly.

"God forgive me for cursing my own brother, but he is a bloody idiot." Christopher had never valued or appreciated his only son, or realised how blessed he'd been to have him, and it got my goat every time I thought about it. When I thought about how desperately Phil and I had wanted a child of our own…best not to let my thoughts dwell on that though, or I'd only get upset all over again.

Having decided that the first bird I selected was the best one, I urged Marty to kill the bird he was still holding by wringing its neck. Surely now that he was a doctor, a surgeon, he wouldn't be squeamish about completing the task.

But he was horrified.

"Auntie Joan, no, I …." he stuttered.

"Oh Martin, for heaven's sake!" I replied, as I took the bird from him and quickly wrung its neck with no further ado. His face was a picture as he heard the crunch of the bones. Still squeamish then, just as he had been as a little boy.

"So what went wrong ?" I probed, as Martin sat at the kitchen table watching me while I started the preparations for our meal, just as he had done so many times as a child.

"With what?" he answered evasively. By the shifty look on his face I knew he was keeping something from me.

"Well, swanky surgeon in London one minute, GP in Portwenn the next?"

"You're here."

"Oh don't be ridiculous! I haven't seen you for ages, hardly at all since you brought that Edith woman down here that time. Not sorry that didn't work out I have to say. Canada or wherever it was she went swanning off to was more than welcome to her. So was it another woman this time?" In my experience affairs of the heart were most usually the cause of any major change or upset.

"No, it wasn't a woman," he replied rather irritably, as if the very idea was ludicrous. Well, all normal men have their needs, and surely even Martin needed someone to share his bed, to give him some loving in his seemingly lonely life. At my age I knew all about being lonely, but he was still a relatively young man.

"Lack of a woman?" I persisted, sure I was on the right track.

"I saw two practices, couldn't decide between them, then I saw Portwenn."

I laughed out loud at this, as I picked up the chopper and prepared to cut off the chicken's head, placing a bowl ready to catch the blood as it drained out.

"When you talk to the locals, you might try to sound a bit more pleased to be here," I told my nephew, but as I looked up at him I was shocked to see that he had gone as white as a sheet and had beads of sweat on his brow.

"Actually. I…I…I…I can't stop. I just wanted to say hello anyway," he mumbled, as he got up and hurried out of the kitchen.

"Martin? Martin, you've got to eat," I called after him. I followed him as he rushed up the garden path towards his car.

"I do have a surgery to set up and I've got to arrange for a plumber and that sort of thing," he made excuses as he reached his car. He looked dreadful.

"I'll send the Large boys round, they'll fix up your plumbing for you. But I'll tell you this – no woman will fix your plumbing up if you go round looking that pale. You need to eat."

With that Martin got in his car, waved and hurriedly drove off down the road, leaving me standing there bemused. What on earth was wrong with Marty? I still hadn't got to the bottom of things yet, that much was crystal clear.

**xXx**

That night, I kept turning things over in my mind, trying to work out what could be possibly be the matter with Martin. Why had he suddenly upped sticks and abandoned his career in London, having totally dedicated himself to it for so many years? It had to be something major, because Martin was not by nature a country person in any way, he'd always happily lived and worked in London. So it would appear that he was running away from something, but what? Maybe there had been a scandal that he'd managed to hush up. But as he was still continuing to practice medicine as a doctor, he clearly hadn't been struck off, so that meant it must be something more personal, I reasoned. And he'd had his funny turn when I'd questioned him about his love life. Maybe I'd unwittingly hit upon a raw nerve. Then it suddenly occurred to me that maybe it wasn't a _woman_ that had been the problem, and that maybe he was too embarrassed to tell me that his interests lay elsewhere. Maybe that was why it hadn't worked out with that horrid Edith woman, and why he hadn't ever brought another woman down to Cornwall. Well it didn't make one jot of difference to me whichever way his inclinations swung, I just wanted the poor boy to find some happiness and companionship, in whatever shape or form it took.

**xXx**

The following morning I was making one of my usual deliveries to the farm produce shop, when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Martin.

He was stood rooted to the spot, transfixed, staring into the window of one of the classrooms of Portwenn School. He was totally oblivious to anything else going on around him, and he had a soppy kind of a look on his face as if…well as if he was a besotted teenager in love.

I shifted my position to see who the object of his enraptured gaze was.

Ah yes, of course. Louisa Glasson. Beautiful Louisa, who turned the heads of all the men in the village. So at least I knew one thing for sure now - Martin was definitely a heterosexual male who was interested in women – well, in one particular woman anyway.

"Martin," I called over to him, before the whole village noticed the direction of his attentions and made his life difficult by teasing him, which I knew he would hate. "Come and give me a hand."

Martin reluctantly tore his gaze away from Louisa, and rather sheepishly made his way over to me.

"Have you settled in alright? I asked Bert Large to call on you."

"Yea, he did already."

"Oh jolly good." I passed Martin some boxes to hold for me as I unloaded my produce into them.

"Not necessarily, no," Martin replied rather waspishly.

"Well he's worth knowing. Apart from anything else, he's a fount of local knowledge," I informed him.

"Yea, I bet," Martin replied sourly. Clearly he and Bert had not hit it off, which was a shame. What Bert didn't know about local matters wasn't worth knowing, and I hoped Martin had not been too arrogant or patronising with him. If he was going to be our village GP, it would smooth things along considerably for him if he learnt to get along with the locals, rather than act the superior surgeon he probably still thought of himself as.

"Her name is Louisa Glasson, by the way. The teacher." I couldn't help myself, I just had to see what his reaction was when I brought up her name.

"Yea, we already met," he confessed, with a slight blush creeping across his face.

"But not successfully." I stated. He hadn't been waving to her or acknowledging her after all, he had been staring at her from a hidden view point.

"Why, did she say something?" he quickly asked.

"No, no, but you were skulking and nobody skulks after a successful meeting," I pointed out, as I now made my way into the shop, and he followed me as he protested,

"Well just for the record, I wasn't skulking. I didn't know she worked there. I just spotted her."

Yep, he sounded just like a besotted teenager, pretending he wasn't interested at all. But I'd seen the look on his face. Martin had fallen big time for our Miss Glasson, of that there was no doubt. But whether he would ever actually have the confidence to do anything about it remained to be seen.

_'Emmet' __is a nickname that some Cornish people use to refer to the many tourists who visit __Cornwall__._


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 20**

Martin was not settling well into his role as the GP for Portwenn. He had managed to upset and alienate just about everyone in the village. I had no doubt that he had the best of intentions medically, but he just didn't seem to have grasped the fact that he had to deal with the people, as well as their medical complaints.

He'd unceremoniously thrown everyone out of his surgery when, as usual, they'd popped in for a cuppa, a biscuit and a chat – as well as a nose at the new Doc. What Martin didn't understand was that this was the way that things had always been done for as long as anyone could remember. No doubt it wasn't the way things were done in London, but he had to remember that he was in Portwenn now.

Marianne Walker had been horrified to have spent less than two minutes in his surgery, after having prided herself on bagging his first official appointment,

"He was so rude Joan. I didn't even get a cup of tea," she complained to me at the first opportunity.

Everyone seemed to think I was responsible for the actions of my nephew, and I got a fair few ear bashings on the subject of his abruptness and rudeness. I tried to defend him as best I could, but as an incomer it was never going to be an easy job for Martin to be accepted, and he wasn't even trying to fit in.

And as for his handling of Susan Brading's affair with young Ross – well tactless didn't even begin to cover it, and he ended up being punched on the nose for his trouble. The village was horrified at his tactlessness, and finally Martin realised that he wasn't making a go of things. After he'd managed to crash his car on the moor, I went up there with him to help retrieve it for repair, and as we watched them attaching the tow rope, he told me that he was leaving. My heart sank at the thought of the nearest thing I had to a son leaving again, just as I was getting used to having him around. But of course, I didn't go all sentimental on him.

"One stray punch and you're running away. Oh for heaven's sake Marty," I said, exasperated.

"Looks like the lanes weren't wide enough after all," he whinged.

"What did you expect, coming here?" I asked him. Had he seriously thought he could carry on in exactly the same way and manner as he had as a consultant in London?

"Well I must say I was hoping for a slightly more hospitable environment," he grumbled.

"Rubbish! If you wanted a chocolate box village, go to the Isle of Wight. This is a real place," I told him. Then I decided to broach a subject that had been on my mind for years, but that I'd never really had the opportunity to talk to him about before. And if he was going to be leaving soon, I decided it was now or never.

"You know, I always wondered…when you stopped coming for the summer, if you err… well if you felt perhaps that you weren't welcome." There, I'd finally asked him what I'd wondered all this time, remembering that sad little face as he'd been driven away from us all those years ago.

I looked up at his face now, trying to read his thoughts, to gauge his reaction. Years of shutting the world out meant that he was not an easy man to read, but I saw a flicker of emotion cross his face.

"Well, no, no, I just thought it wasn't so convenient, that's all," he replied, avoiding my eye.

"You know that he wouldn't send you, don't you?" I told him.

"Dad? Why?" Martin was obviously completely surprised by this.

So my bastard brother had never given the little lad any kind of explanation as to why his visits to Cornwall every summer had suddenly stopped. He'd let him believe that we didn't want him to come any more, that we couldn't be bothered with him, which couldn't have been further from the truth. But I wasn't ready to tell him the whole story just yet. I wasn't sure how he would react when he discovered that his father had refused to send him because of my affair with John Slater. Maybe one day I'd fully confess my sins.

"Doesn't matter, far too long ago. I just wanted you to know that, well you were _always_ welcome," I told him, hoping that maybe these words would provide just a crumb of comfort to him, to know that we at least, had never rejected him.

Martin said nothing, but the expression on his face told me that I had been right to bring the subject up.

**xXx**

For whatever reason, Martin decided to stay on as GP in Portwenn. But that didn't mean that things were going smoothly for him, far from it. Elaine, his receptionist, was, I imagine, about as different as it was possible to be from the kind of secretary he must have had in London. Rude, lazy, mouthy and inefficient, I could imagine that she drove him up the wall. But…she was a local girl. So when he sacked her over her inability to accurately write down a name and phone number for what turned out to be a case of tonsillitis, guess who the village sided with. Not Martin that was for sure, and now everyone was refusing to have him as their doctor. Funnily enough, the only one who seemed to have any sympathy for Martin's side of things was Elaine's father, Bruce, maybe because he had had to deal with Elaine day in, day out and so understood how difficult she could be. Anyhow, he still invited Martin to his wedding to Carmen.

Martin had at least made one friend in the village – a shaggy dog that followed him everywhere, and who was doing its best to become the resident dog at the surgery. Martin hated it with a vengeance, but despite his best efforts, the dog persistently followed him around, so he decided he would hand it over to me.

"Right, this is your new owner and this is your new home, which is a farm, which dogs are supposed to enjoy. So bugger off and leave me alone," he told the animal, as he took it off the lead and gave it a firm shove up the backside with the tip of his shoe. We were up on the top field and the dog happily went bounding off.

I tried to explain to him that sacking Elaine had not been a very politic move in the village. As he blustered on about how inefficient she was, listing all her faults and mistakes, I considered pointing out that he was unlikely to find anyone better to replace her. However, I settled for reminding him that everyone makes mistakes, and asked,

"When you make a mistake do you roll over and let them tickle your tum?"

No doubt in London, his secretary and all the other staff had jumped to his every command and had never answered him back. Truth of the matter was he had met his match in Elaine, she gave as good as she got and stood her ground. And the village were backing _her_ up, not Martin. If he arrogantly carried on the way he was, refusing to compromise in any way, he'd end up with no patients left to treat.

But in the end, I realised that this was something that Martin had to figure out for himself.

**xXx**

I was, of course, very curious indeed about the state of play between Martin and Louisa. I'd found out that Louisa had been on the committee that had appointed him to the GP role, and I'd also found out that she had been the only one to object to his appointment. Things didn't look too promising then.

So when I spotted Louisa coming towards me as I loaded some things in my truck, I decided to do a bit of fishing.

"Oh Louisa, have you seen Martin?" I enquired innocently, trying to establish if there had been any kind of socialising between them as yet.

"No, sorry. On my way to see Roger in hospital. He's having his main op. today, so excuse me," she replied as she hurried towards her car, carrying a bunch of flowers.

"Now maybe that's where Martin is. Look, if you see him, can you tell him that his dog seems to have decided not to play 'Spot on the Farm'?" I asked.

"Actually Joan, I gather Martin hasn't been by or near the hospital," Louisa replied, clearly rather upset with him.

"Ah yes, I heard that he and Roger didn't hit it off." Naturally I'd heard all about this from several different sources.

"I'm not very impressed, to be honest," Louisa informed me. What on earth had Marty done to upset her? But at least she wasn't indifferent to him.

"Well Roger is a difficult man, as you well know," I told her through gritted teeth. As the teacher who had replaced him at school, she had received the brunt of his bitterness and his cruel tongue at times, so I felt it was rather hypocritical of her to make out that he was all sweetness and light.

"He's got cancer. He needs care. It's not as if Martin's got any other patients to worry about," she lectured me.

"If you're annoyed with Martin, I suggest you take it up with him," I suggested, rather put out by her attitude towards me.

"He's your nephew," she retorted.

"Weren't you on the committee that appointed him," I shot back.

With that she threw me a black look, got in her car and drove off.

**xXx**

I'd watched Louisa growing up over the years. Her mother had swanned off when she was just a young girl, leaving her to be brought up by her feckless but charming father Terry. When I'd helped Muriel at young Danny Steel's birthday parties, I'd noticed her. She was such a pretty little girl with her ivory skin and dark glossy hair, she'd reminded me of Snow White. And my word, what a spirit she had, even back then.

I remembered one occasion at what must have been Danny's seventh or eighth birthday party, when a couple of the other village kids were being unkind and teasing her about the fact that her mother had left.

"My mum says it's because your Dad's such a loser, she don't blame your mum for running off."

"Yea, loser big time, loses everything at the bookies, that's what my dad says."

Just then Danny had waded into the argument.

"You shut your face Mary Jones!" he'd shouted at the girl in question, as he'd come up to Louisa's side protectively. But Louisa was having none of it.

"It's alright Danny. Mary can't help the fact that her mother is just an ignorant gossip. And Joanna, your Dad only knows all about the bookies cos he practically lives there himself," Louisa retorted, her arms folded across her chest and her eyes shining with anger, as she dared them to argue back.

Even from a young age, it was very apparent that Louisa Glasson was more than capable of fighting her own corner, and I had not felt it necessary to intervene on her behalf, deciding instead to call them all over to start a new game of blind man's buff.

Danny and Louisa had always been close friends at school, and then as they became teenagers, it developed into something more, into romance, a first love. Danny always seemed such a nice boy, and as I watched them together, I thought that maybe Louisa had, for the first time in her life, someone that she could trust and rely on.

Of course her father was as untrustworthy and unreliable as they came, although he could always talk the talk, and charm the birds from the trees. Things were never his fault, he always had a reason why he couldn't pay the rent, or pay the bill at the grocers. People tolerated him mostly for Louisa's sake, but inevitably there always came a time when he'd pushed his luck too far, and so they would have to move, yet again. Louisa always defended him, in public anyway, but I believed that she had had to grow up before her time, that she had to be the sensible one for them. As soon as she was able, she got part time jobs, as a waitress, babysitting, anything that came her way, and so they got by. And she was a bright girl, good at her studies, determined to better herself.

I really admired her for being so hard working and always trying to make the best of things. So when I found Terry Glasson helping himself to the charity collection box, I didn't report him to the authorities as I probably should have done, probably would have done if it had been anyone else. But the damage was done, other people had seen what had happened, word soon spread, and it was the final straw as far as the village was concerned. Everyone refused to have anything to do with him, having seen just how low he would stoop. It wasn't long after that that he left the village, allegedly because of some fantastic deal he'd got going in London. Louisa put a brave face on things, and loyally refused to believe that her father would ever steal from charity, despite what the rest of the village told her. In any case she was just about to go off to London herself, having won a hard earned place at teacher training college.

Danny was also going to London to university, to study architecture, like his father. Muriel was incredibly proud of her only son, and he could do no wrong as far as she was concerned. So when word got back to us that Danny had dumped Louisa once he started mixing with the flashy new crowd that he'd got mixed up with in London, she defended his actions.

"It was never anything serious between Danny and Louisa, they were just school friends, that's all," she assured everyone.

But I imagined that for Louisa, Danny was just another person close to her that had let her down. So if Martin was ever going to stand any chance with Louisa, he would first have to earn her trust, of that much I was certain.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 21**

I think Martin learnt quite a lot from his handling – or rather his mishandling – of an epidemic of diarrhoea in the village. He'd jumped to the conclusion that it had been caused by a contaminated water supply before he'd actually had the test results back from the Water Board, and had hastily announced as much on the radio, much to everyone's horror. You couldn't hide in a small village like Portwenn, unlike in London, and maybe it finally dawned on my nephew the trouble his hasty actions might have caused to the tourist industry and to people's livelihoods. In any case, he seemed to have somehow averted a crisis, and things had settled down once again. And miracle of miracles, I gathered that he also seemed to have got into Louisa's good books, when I was down on the Platt one day.

Martin was passing by as Louisa was buying some tickets from Bert, and I saw her call him over.

"I've just been mugged by Bert, and now I've got two tickets to the Portwenn Players Dance, an auspicious occasion. Do you want one?" she said, as she cocked her head up at him and smiled rather beguilingly, waggling her tickets to show him.

I wondered why she had bought two tickets, whether she had already been planning to invite him along. But in any case, Martin would surely be thrilled by this offer and jump at the chance of a date with the object of his affections, but my heart sank when I heard his reply.

"Doctors aren't allowed to attend social events, and…umm… I can't dance," he stuttered, as he started to blush.

_'Oh for heavens sake Marty!'_ I thought to myself. '_Just like when you were little, standing on the outside of a group of children, too shy to join in even when they invited you. But you're a grown man now, so for goodness sake act like one!'_

"Well, you don't have to dance," Louisa tried her best to persuade him. She looked so pretty in her green patterned frock that had slipped down to show an enticing glimpse of her bare shoulders, as her hair blew around in the breeze. I really don't know how he resisted her, most men would have thanked their lucky stars for such an invitation, but of course Martin was not 'most men'.

"Really, I won't thanks," he reiterated, putting his hand up to emphasise his point. I suppose it was maybe a step too far, expecting Martin to attend something like a village dance, to be caught showing any kind of affection or pleasure in public. He had always been such a private person, but I really felt he was going to have to make a bit more effort to join in if he was to stand any chance at all with Louisa, who was by nature a very sociable girl.

So I pretended not to have heard anything, and decided to try again on Louisa's behalf.

"Have you nabbed my nephew yet?" I asked her innocently.

"Ere Doc, you can't pass up on an event like this," Bert joined in too.

"I'm busy," Martin insisted.

"I didn't tell you what night it's on," Louisa pointed out the flaw in his argument.

"Come on, it's a charity do, it's fun. We squeeze into the village hall and shake our booties," Bert demonstrated by shaking his very generous frame to give a sample of the delights the evening would hold, and that was the final straw for Martin.

"Sounds appalling," Martin shuddered with distaste. I realised that Bert's description sounded like hell on earth for Martin and with a sigh knew that we were fighting a losing battle. Clearly so did Louisa.

"Oh you've no chance there Bert. Well, you know where we'll be," Louisa said, as she looked up at him rather wistfully.

"Yea," Martin said as he walked off, leaving Louisa staring after him.

I took heart from the fact that at least she did seem to be interested in Martin. I knew he wasn't a classically good looking man, but he was a tall, and rather imposing figure of authority, which I knew some women found attractive. And maybe she was the kind of girl who liked a challenge - well she would have to be with my nephew, but then maybe that was part of the attraction for her, the fact that Martin was just so different from the other men she'd come across so far in her life. He most certainly did not possess the gift of the gab, like her father, and he was not smooth and charming like young Danny Steel had been. I knew that I was clutching at straws, but I had seen something between them, of that I was convinced.

But of course Martin's loss in declining Louisa's invitation was Mark Mylow's gain, as he didn't hesitate to quickly snap up Louisa's spare ticket. I think Louisa had meant that she would sell it to him, but before the poor girl could explain, he'd taken it as an invitation to go to the dance as a date, and was encouraged by Bert rather wickedly telling him,

"I reckon she fancies you."

By his expression, Mark was very much thanking _his_ lucky stars, and I recalled how on several occasions I'd also seen him standing staring into the classroom where Louisa was teaching, with a very soppy look on his face.

'_Watch out Martin'_, I thought to myself. '_He who hesitates_…' as Uncle Dick had once warned Phil.

**xXx**

.

In the early years of our marriage, Phil and I had gone to the dance every year, and we'd always enjoyed ourselves despite the fact that Phil had two left feet and no sense of rhythm. I'd tried to tell Marty this, tried one last time to get him to go to the dance and start to build a social life, but he was adamant that he wouldn't be going.

"Can't think of anything worse. I'd rather sit at home and watch paint dry," he'd told me firmly, and I'd reluctantly had to let it rest.

The evening of the dance arrived, and I went along – people of all ages attended to let their hair down. Even if I was no longer an active participant in all the shenanigans that went on, I liked to go and 'people watch', to stand back and observe, especially after a few drinks had been imbibed and people let themselves go. It brought back memories of a happier time in my life, when the future had seemed so full of promise for what was to come. I tried not to be a bitter old lady about how things had turned out, but it was hard at times, so I'd long ago realised that it was far better to keep very active, to join in everything that went on in the village, and to help out where ever I could, rather than sit at home alone to mope and brood in a very unhealthy way. I had come perilously close to doing so at one time, after Martin had stopped visiting, after John had left to go his own way, and after Phil had become ill with such a bloody awful illness that led inevitably to his death, and I'd been left completely and utterly on my own, with no family at all left to cherish.

But life goes on, and now I really wanted to do all I could to help Marty to find some love, some companionship in his life before it was too late. But I knew I had to tread carefully with him, that it was a delicate balance – push him too hard or too fast, and I ran the risk of him telling me to leave him alone and shutting me out altogether. But I worried that if I stood back and did nothing, he was going to end up a very lonely old man, and I really didn't wish that for him.

Louisa looked stunning when she turned up at the dance accompanied by Mark. She was wearing a bright scarlet dress that set off her slim figure and her dark hair perfectly, and I could certainly understand why Martin was so attracted to her, even if he didn't have a clue what to do about it. Knowing him as I did, I thought that he probably felt scared and overwhelmed by his feelings, so was trying to ignore them. And maybe he thought that such a beautiful woman was way out of his league – I realised that he had very low self esteem in all areas other than those relating to medical matters

I watched on that evening as events unfolded between Mark and Louisa, and I freely admit that I eavesdropped on their conversation as much as I was able to without being too obvious. He seemed rather nervous, but very, very keen, and I could see by the horrified look on Louisa's face that Mark was under some sort of misapprehension as to where things were heading between them. As the music started, Mark disappeared for a minute to put their drinks down so that they could have a dance.

"This is interesting," I couldn't help commenting to Louisa, as I wondered how she was going to extricate herself from the situation.

"I think I may just have a serious misunderstanding on my hands," admitted Louisa, looking very embarrassed.

As 'Celebration' was played by the live band, Mark and Louisa took to the dance floor. After a minute or two, Mark got carried away in his enthusiasm, and leapt up onto the stage to perform an amazing solo routine as everyone clapped and egged him on. Then he jumped down again, threw his jacket off and beckoned Louisa over to dance with him, and folk gathered round to watch as they were actually very good together. Finally, Mark gathered Louisa up into his arms to perform a rather close and raunchy manoeuvre, and it was at this moment that Martin walked into the hall.

As he looked on, Louisa was laughing and smiling with Mark as she enthused about his dancing skills. He was confessing something about how he practised in the police station sometimes when it was quiet. Because the next piece of music the band was playing was very loud, Louisa had to lean right into him to hear what he was saying, virtually pressing her cheek against his.

I could read on Martin's face the emotion that he was clearly experiencing – jealousy. He didn't like what he was seeing one little bit, but it was his own fault – Louisa had asked him first, and he had turned down her invitation. A beautiful, intelligent woman like her wasn't going to sit in every night waiting to see if he would ever pluck up the nerve to call was she? Of course Martin didn't know that Louisa wasn't actually interested in Mark, all he could see was the girl of his dreams in someone else's arms. It was too much for him, so he turned on his heel and made to leave.

I caught the horrified look on Louisa's face when she realised that Martin had turned up, that he had seen her with Mark, and that he was now leaving. So she _was_ definitely still interested in him, I was reassured to discover.

I caught up with Martin as he was leaving, frustrated that he seemed to be giving up on Louisa so easily. Wasn't he prepared to put a bit of effort in to try to make things happen between them?

"What's happening?" I asked.

"I needed to talk to Mark," he replied evasively.

"You needed to talk to him, or you needed to interrupt him?" I tried to provoke him.

"I needed his help to section a man under section 136 of the Mental Health Act," he waffled at me, hiding behind his 'doctor' persona.

"Then you saw him with Louisa, and you don't need his help," I said sarcastically.

"I'll get a psychiatric nurse in the morning," he stated.

"Yes, yes, she should make you feel much better," I ridiculed the silly boy. It seemed that he was never going to acknowledge his feelings to me – or maybe even to himself.

With that Martin fought his way out of the hall, past all the courting couples who were engaged in much the same activities that Phil and I had been all those years ago at our first dance. I wondered what he dreamt about that night, in bed all alone, and whether he regretted his decision to turn Louisa's invitation down.

**xXx**

You never know what's around the corner in life do you? I'd long ago accepted my lonely widow status, and I wasn't expecting any kind of romance or love to find its way into my life again at this late stage – I was certainly no spring chicken any more, and my looks had long since faded. I'd been lucky enough to experience two great loves in my life, which is a lot more than many people, and I was resigned to spending the rest of my days alone, although the arrival of Martin in the village had provided an unexpected bonus for me. But I knew that I couldn't let myself live my life through his, however tempting that seemed.

And then, out of the blue, John Slater reappeared in my life.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 22 **

We stood together on the cliff top and watched as John's yacht sailed off far into the distance in the early morning sunlight. When we could see it no more, Martin took me back into my kitchen, sat me down at the table with a box of tissues, and quietly set about making us a pot of tea.

The tears were pouring down my cheeks as mentally I railed against the injustice of it all. Why, after all these years, had John sailed back into my life, turned it upside down once more by making me think that we could be together, only to make a fool of me and sail out a few days later leaving me bereft – again. To further complicate matters, Marty had now disclosed the fact that while he was in the village, John had discovered that he was very ill, that in fact he was dying, and that was why he had left without me. It was little wonder that I was struggling to try to make any sense of it all.

Martin brought over two mugs of steaming hot tea, and then sat down opposite me. He looked into my face, his blue/grey eyes full of concern, although he said nothing as he waited for me to speak.

"So what exactly is wrong with him then?" I demanded to know, as I wiped the tears away and blew my nose.

"It seems he contracted Rheumatic Fever some years ago after he'd gone out to Hong Kong, which left him with a weakened heart. When I ran some tests…"

"He came to see you?" I interrupted him, surprised that John had consulted Martin.

"Not exactly no. You remember I told you that he'd crashed his dinghy? Well I saw it happen and found him in a rather confused state, so I insisted that he come back to the surgery and let me check him over. That's when I discovered that he had a very erratic heartbeat. I took some blood to run some tests, but the arrogant tosser…" Marty stopped and looked over at me.

"Oh it's alright, I know there's no love lost between the two of you, so go on," I urged him.

"Well I wanted him to go to the hospital in Truro for tests, but he refused any further treatment. Thought he knew better it seemed, wouldn't listen to me. But I sent the bloods off anyway. And when the results came back…"

"What?"

"They showed that as well an extremely high erythrocyte sedimentation rate, he also had infective endocarditis. Means his heart function is severely impaired, and as it's already damaged from the rheumatic fever, it's really not good news for him."

"Well can't you treat that? Surely in this day and age, there's something you can do?" I demanded to know.

"There are a few things that could have been done that might have given him slightly longer, but he didn't want to spend any time in hospital. His choice." Martin explained, and I knew that however much Martin disliked John, I could never doubt that he would always do his utmost for him professionally, and would have explained in full to him the consequences of refusing treatment.

"So…how long…?" I had to know the worst.

"Hard to say for sure, but probably six months… maybe a year, maximum, I'd say. He'll steadily decline, get weaker. He may go sooner if he develops another infection."

Martin didn't sugar coat the news for me and I respected him for that.

"I see, but I still don't understand why he didn't tell me. I mean, I could have looked after him, helped him," I protested.

"He didn't want you to. Said you'd already nursed one dying man, and he wasn't going to put you through that again, so he lied to you about being married to put you off."

"Oh."

"And I have to say that I agree with him on that score, about the only decent thing he's ever done as far as I can see," Martin told me with a deep scowl on his face.

"You _really_ don't like him, do you?"

"Nope." Martin didn't even bother to try to hide his contempt. "Which I have to say is why…"

"Why what?"

Martin looked up at me.

"Well, I just don't understand…Uncle Phil was a pretty decent man wasn't he? So why the hell would you…with someone like _him_."

He virtually spat the words out, and it was obvious that the scales had definitely fallen from Martin's eyes following my confession about my affair with John.

"Ah, I see, yes well... What do you remember about Phil, hmm Marty?"

Martin took a deep breath and stretched back in his chair as he cast his mind back.

"Big guy. Blonde. Kind. Quiet. Never shouted at me. Patient. Tolerant. Blue eyes. Big hands. Liked to fix things. Taught me about clocks." He went through a kind of shopping list for his perfect uncle it seemed to me, and Phil had pretty much ticked all the boxes.

"Yes, he was all those things… and more," I agreed.

"Never got upset with me even when I…well, when I wet the bed. Never raised his hand to me, or threatened to punish me for it in any way that I can ever remember," he added.

"No! Of course not, he would _never_ have done that," I said, shocked. Clearly other people in his childhood had, and I suddenly recalled an occasion when Phil had told me that he'd seen Marty wince as he'd raised his hand to reach for something above the young boy's head. '_It was as if he thought I was going to hit him' _Phil had told me, horrified.

"So, that's why I simply can't get my head around the fact that you …"

"That I was unfaithful? Cheated on him? Broke my wedding vows?"

"Yes." Martin now looked me straight in the eye, and I realised that it was not going to be easy to justify what I'd done to Martin, but that I was going to have to try if I wasn't going to lose his respect.

"Obviously you know that we were never able to have children?"

"So I gathered, but I've never known exactly why I suppose," he told me.

"We really wanted children, and we tried for ages, but nothing happened. Eventually I went along and saw Doctor Sim, he just told me to go away and stop worrying to start with, but eventually he sent me for tests, although nothing like they can do these days of course."

"And the results of the tests?" Martin enquired, with some professional interest.

"All seemed normal. And then eventually, Doctor Sim asked if Phil had ever had Mumps."

"Hadn't he already asked that at the beginning? Checked Phil out as well as you?" Martin asked, as he raised an eyebrow. I was already aware that he'd never rated his predecessor's skills very highly.

"No. Phil hated going to the doctor, and somehow it was just assumed that the problem lay with me. That's just how it was at that time I suppose."

"But I take it Phil _had_ had mumps, leading to orchitis, hence he was sterile," Martin quickly worked out.

"Yes. And he simply couldn't handle it. He went into a severe depression, felt he wasn't a proper man, that he'd cheated me out of the chance to have a baby."

"Hmm, fairly common reaction actually. There have been several studies showing that emotionally, infertility can be crippling. A combination of sadness, frustration and angry feelings from both partners will ultimately strain relationships if proper help is not sought, and can lead to one or both partners withdrawing into a state of depression," Martin said, having clicked into his medical persona.

"Phil refused to seek any help – said it was pointless, wouldn't change anything. And back in those days there wasn't really any treatment to be had, don't forget. So we just had to get on with things, but…" I hesitated as I didn't really want to go into the details of our sex life with 'little Marty' even though he was a grown man and a doctor now.

"Go on," Martin prompted.

"Well he shut me out, wouldn't come near me, you know…in bed," I tried to explain, without being too graphic.

"I see." Martin's face was now inscrutable, but having come this far, I decided I might as well make sure he had the full story.

"And previously, we'd always had a very…loving …and close…marriage, if you see what I mean."

"Right, so…"

"And now – nothing, nothing at all. It didn't seem to matter how supportive I was, how many times I told Phil that I still loved him, that we would get through it, he just couldn't seem to come to terms with it. So not only did I have to accept that I would never hold a baby of my own in my arms, but I also had to get used to the fact that Phil had changed into a different man. It was almost as if we had somehow slipped straight into old age even though I was still only in my thirties. And Phil refused to see a doctor or even attempt to do anything to lift his depression, instead just becoming very morbid, telling me over and over again that I should leave him, that I should find myself a proper man, that he wouldn't blame me if I did."

"So that's what you did is it – you went out and found this John Slater?" Martin suggested, rather bluntly.

"No! It wasn't like that at all. I certainly didn't go looking to have an affair you know. For a long time I accepted my lot and tried my best to get Phil to snap out of it, But he just threw himself into working even harder on the farm, buried himself in work. And then one day, I literally bumped into John. And I've never felt anything like it before or since. It was as if someone shot a bolt of electricity through me, and it was the same for him too."

I looked over at Martin, wondering if he could have any idea what I was talking about, of what it was like to feel that intense frisson, that electricity, an attraction that you have no logical control over. Then I remembered the way he'd looked at Louisa, and thought that just maybe he did.

"And I resisted you know. For a long time actually. But John kept pursuing me, insisted that we couldn't ignore these feelings, that it was a once in a lifetime gift."

Martin snorted his disbelief at this, and his lip curled in disdain. But I ignored him to carry on with my explanation.

"He always seemed to appear as if by magic whenever I went into the village - of course I found out later that he had a pair of binoculars that he kept trained on the approach road to spot my truck. So he was always finding me, always with a cheeky smile and a suggestion of where we could go and what we could do. Why didn't I look at his boat with him, or could I check out what was growing in his garden for him, or could I show him the best local walks, all sorts of suggestions he came up with. And I couldn't deny the strong, virtually irresistible attraction between us. But resist I did, and I managed to keep my distance from him for quite some time, because I didn't believe in being unfaithful, it went against everything I believed in. And then suddenly, one beautiful, sunny, spring morning, something inside me just seemed to snap, and I decided that life was too short to be spent being some kind of a martyr, wallowing in pity and self sacrifice. I was being offered a chance of happiness and pleasure and I was bloody well going to do what Phil kept telling me that I should and grab it."

And then I stopped talking as my mind went back to that first time that I'd gone over to see John.

**xXx**

_My heart was literally in my mouth as I picked up the phone to dial John's house, taking the number from one of the many little cards that he'd kept dropping in my bag or pocket each time we'd bumped into each other, always whispering 'call me anytime' as he did so. I thought I'd thrown them all away, but I managed to find one in the bottom of my bag. _

"_Hello," he replied, and just hearing his voice sent shivers of anticipation running down my spine._

"_It's me, Joan. Look, I was wondering…" I hesitated, my courage starting to fail me._

"_Meet me at the boat. I'll be there in ten minutes waiting for you," he responded immediately, and then put the phone down before I could argue or change my mind._

_I stood there in a quandary. Phil would hardly even notice I'd gone out. I often went down to the village in the mornings, just leaving him a note on the table to explain my whereabouts, but in any case he spent most of the day out on the farm alone these days. But I hesitated because I knew that if I went and met John now, it would undoubtedly be the beginning of something that I wasn't sure I knew how to deal with. _

_The phone rang at that moment, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I quickly grabbed it to stop the raucous noise that had jangled my nerves._

"_Don't stand me up Joan. We're meant to be together, you know I'm right. Just give me the chance to show you, please." _

_With that the line went dead as John hung up again. He seemed to be able to read my mind, to know that I was hesitating. I closed my eyes as I began to imagine what it would be like to let him make love to me, and I felt myself becoming hot with desire and arousal. The thought of spending the next thirty or forty years without the touch of a man, without the closeness, the joy of experiencing that intimacy ever again filled me with a cold dread. And I had tried my hardest to get Phil to snap out of it after all, but he wouldn't even try._

_With that I quickly scribbled a note to leave on the table, grabbed my coat and made my way out._

_**xXx**_

_John didn't say a word as I walked up to his boat. He simply held out his hand to help me on board, and then started the engine and headed out to sea. Luckily it was a beautiful calm day, and after about twenty minutes or so, he stopped the engine and threw the anchor overboard. We were as alone as it was possible to be, with no fear of being watched or interrupted._

_He took me by the hand and led me down into the little cabin, still saying nothing. He slowly lifted my chin with his finger and very gently kissed my lips. I literally felt my knees go weak at his touch, and it was maybe just as well that he wrapped his arm around my waist to support me._

"_Oh Joan, I've been waiting for you to accept what's happening between us, you can't deny it any longer can you?" he whispered, as he slowly started unbuttoning my blouse._

"_No," I whispered back, my breath catching in my throat. _

_Very slowly, he continued to undress me, and then gently lay me down on the little cabin bed, as he knelt next to me. I tried to reach over to start undressing him, but he took my hands away and put them back by my side._

"_No, this is all about you, so just relax," he told me, as he started to use his hands and fingers very skilfully on my body to arouse me in ways that I'd not even known were possible, all the time watching my face intently. He knew my body better than I knew it myself, it soon became apparent, and as I listened to the waves lapping at the side of the boat as it gently rocked, it was the most erotic experience of my life._

"_I just knew you'd be really responsive, that you would appreciate the finer points of the art of making love," he smiled, as he worked his magic on me. Before long I was moaning and writhing under his touch as I felt the most intense feelings of pleasure that I had ever experienced, and he held me tightly against him as the waves of pleasure peaked and then washed over me. Finally, as my climax slowly subsided, he turned my face to look at him._

"_Good?" he asked rather smugly._

"_Yes," I smiled back rather shyly. "But what about you, don't you want to…?" I queried, amazed at his incredible self restraint._

"_Oh, don't you worry, all in good time. That was just the first step of many along the way, my darling," he told me. And he spent the rest of the morning demonstrating to me just what an amazingly skilled lover he was._

**xXx**

I was brought back to the present moment by Martin's voice.

"I said, how come you didn't leave Phil and go off with Slater then?" he repeated, looking at me as if I was quite mad.

"Wasn't that simple was it? Whatever you may think of me, I'm really not a cold hearted bitch, I did still love Phil, despite everything. I felt very torn and guilty actually," I told him, and it was true.

I swung between the heights of being madly infatuated with John, and the lows of being guilt stricken when I thought of Phil. But I found that I just couldn't stop myself, I _had_ to see John whenever I could, and I just buried my head in the sand and tried to ignore the fact that it must have been painfully obvious even to Phil that something had changed, that I was suddenly far more alive than I'd been in such a long, long time. The emptiness, the aching void that had been left by the lack of a baby and the lack of a loving husband had now been filled and I felt exhilarated. I also managed to push to the back of my mind the fact that John had clearly had many lovers before me – and would no doubt have many lovers after me too, no matter what he told me now. I just lived for the moment, scared that if I dared to examine things too closely the bubble would burst, and I'd be back to my old, lonely self again.

The look on Martin's face showed his scepticism. Everything was always so cut and dried, black and white to him, with no shades in between.

"And anyway the day did come when John asked me to go away with him. And I couldn't do it." I continued.

"Why not? What held you back, if you were so besotted with him?"

"Phil. And you, the nearest thing I had to a son. And I knew that John didn't want a family, he'd been quite honest about that, and so I found that I just couldn't give up my life here to go with him. He professed to be heartbroken, but I was sure that he would soon find someone else, as indeed he did, because I heard sometime later that he'd got married, so I knew I'd been right to let him go. But by then it was too late, as I told you, your father had found out about my affair. I told him that it was over with John, but it was no good, he refused to let you have anything more to do with me. He didn't care that he was punishing you as well as me. And then not all that long after that, Phil became ill, and well, the rest of the sad story you know," I told him.

"Must have been bloody awful for you, nursing poor Phil through Motor Neurone Disease," Martin sympathised. Of course as a doctor, he would undoubtedly be fully aware of all the dreadful stages the patient goes through before death finally releases them.

"Yes, that was a particularly horrible time Martin, and one that I don't choose to dwell on. Phil certainly didn't deserve to die like that, but there you are, that's life isn't it, cruel and unfair at times. Look Martin, I'm not particularly proud of some of the things that I've done in my life, but all I can hope is that now maybe you can in some way understand why I acted in the way that I did?" I pleaded with my nephew. I didn't want to lose him again now by my revelations.

"You certainly haven't had it easy over the years, that's for sure. What's done is done, but would you really have upped sticks and gone off with Slater this time, left your farm and everything here?" he queried.

"Well this time around I was single, so there wasn't really anything to stop me was there? You're a grown man, you don't need me, poking my nose in and meddling in your affairs, do you?" I joked.

Martin didn't answer, so I pushed it a bit further, and changed the subject around to him and _his_ love life now.

"Talking of which, what about you and Louisa?"

"What do you mean? There is no 'me and Louisa'," he replied, frowning.

"But you'd like there to be?" I probed.

He didn't answer.

"Look Marty, despite everything that's happened to me, I do still believe in love, that it really is '_better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all_'. It's been pretty lonely for me since Phil died so I do know what I'm talking about. I'd really like to see you settle down with someone, instead of being a lonely, crusty old bachelor. And you do like Louisa don't you?"

"Whether I like her or not is irrelevant. She wouldn't be interested in someone like me," he replied, as he looked down at the table, and picked at the edge of the table cloth.

"She asked you to the dance, didn't she?" I pointed out.

"She was just being polite."

"Has it not occurred to you that maybe someone solid and dependable like you would be good for Louisa, that you could maybe provide some stability for her? She's not had the best luck with the men in her life so far you know."

"Oh? What do you mean? What's happened before then?" Martin looked up at me now, his interest clearly piqued.

"We'll have to save that for another time, because I think we've had enough stories for today, and no doubt you should get going to open up for your morning surgery. But don't sell yourself short Marty, because I do believe that Louisa likes you. So if you'd only make a little bit of an effort with her, you never know what might happen hmm?. Please say you'll try, just to keep your silly old romantic aunt happy eh?" I smiled at him as I now cleared the tissues away, determined not to shed any more tears – it wouldn't do any good anyway, would it?

"Can't promise anything. I'm just not the romantic type," he grunted back at me, looking decidedly embarrassed. But he hadn't denied that he had feelings for Louisa, so that was a start. I thought I had detected just a tiny chink in the armour he always wore when it came to personal feelings, and I decided that I would do everything I could to nudge him in the right direction. I might be too old to follow my heart, but little Marty most certainly was not.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 23**

Along with the rest of the village, I finally discovered the real reason why Martin had had to give up surgery, and had ended up in Portwenn as our GP.

I'd been expecting him to come up to the farm for lunch one day – we tried to get together a couple of times a week these days. I think that since our recent heart to heart over my affair with John Slater, Martin had maybe realised that I was in fact quite lonely. I think he also felt a little guilty over the fact that I had, in part, given up my lover for him when he was a little boy, and also that he had clearly been jealous at the thought of me leaving with John when he had returned. So I think he was making an effort to try and spend more time with me.

Today we had arranged that he would stop by soon after he finished for lunch at one, but by half past there was no sign of him. I rang the surgery to see if he had been called out to an emergency, but it went straight to the answer phone.

It was nearly two o'clock by the time I heard his car pull up outside, and I went out to meet him, only to discover that he was in an absolutely foul mood – another Ellingham trait, I'm sorry to say. He was wittering on about 'just trying to do my job' and 'malicious rumours', and then suddenly exclaimed,

'Roger- bloody- chip- on-the-shoulder-Fenn!' as he went storming off in his car again, leaving me completely bamboozled as to what on earth the matter with him was.

Of course lunch was ruined by now, so I just picked at it, and then made some sandwiches from the meat. He would no doubt be haring off back to work for his afternoon surgery session if and when he returned, but he still needed to eat.

Finally he returned, still not making any sense, but clearly extremely upset at something that had occurred that morning. But he refused to elaborate when I pressed him for an explanation, insisting it was 'nothing'. In the end I gave up, and just handed him the sandwiches as I told him wearily,

"Please Martin, don't apologise. It would give either one or both of us heart failure,"

He just grunted at me and then stormed off out again.

**xXx**

I was listening to Radio Portwenn that afternoon as I did some ironing, but I stopped what I was doing, turned up the volume and sat down to listen intently as it became clear that the topic of conversation for the phone-in that afternoon was my nephew – and the fact that it had somehow become common knowledge in the village that he had a phobia - about blood. Suddenly it became all too clear why Marty had been so upset and angry earlier.

"Oh Martin, you poor boy!. A surgeon with a phobia of blood!" I gasped, appalled at the gossipy and jokey way his most private problems were being discussed on the radio. This affliction was clearly something that had turned Martin's life upside down, and thrown everything into disarray for him. He'd kept it hidden from the world, even from me, in his attempt to carry on as if nothing had changed. What on earth could have brought it on, I wondered, not having a clue about these things. But I knew enough to understand that Martin would not appreciate being the topic of gossip and jokes, and sure enough, what I heard next confirmed my fears, as Martin had clearly also been listening in to the broadcast, and had felt compelled to respond.

"I just wanted to get a few things crystal clear for you and your puerile listeners. I admit to having certain difficulties, but they have _not _and they _never_ will impair my function as a doctor. And for the record, a certain village plumber's accident was in fact a prank with some ketchup, which by the way kept me from attending to patients in my surgery. And as for so called homeopathic remedies…well I suggest if there's one for chronic infantilism, your caller and indeed the entire village should embark on a course _immediately_! Thank you!"

Martin was literally spitting feathers in his outraged state, and I could clearly imagine that he was nearly bursting a blood vessel as he bellowed into his phone. But I knew that underneath that outrage, he would be very hurt and upset that people were making fun of him, when he was clearly trying so hard to carry on in his profession, despite carrying a terrible handicap. I thought that Bert had in fact being very cruel and thoughtless with his prank, and I would be telling him so at the first opportunity.

I tried ringing Marty later on, but the answer phone was on again, and his mobile was switched off. I decided I would go over the following morning, after giving him time to cool down, before trying to talk to him and discover the whole story. I had to admit to feeling a little hurt that he had not felt able to take me into his confidence, but I also knew that that was Martin's way of dealing with things – _not_ to talk about them, to go into denial. He'd had the opportunity at lunch time to fill me in if he'd wanted to, but he'd still been insisting that it was 'nothing'.

I worried that there might be a back lash against Martin in the village – some of the callers on the radio show had voiced opinions that they didn't have confidence in a doctor who was scared of blood. However, events that evening soon overtook all these worries, and shut up all the dissenters who doubted Martin's abilities as a doctor, for once and for all.

Martin saved young Peter Cronk's life that night. In the back of the ambulance, racing to the hospital, he performed life saving surgery using makeshift, faulty equipment, surgery that involved dealing with copious amounts of blood. But he went ahead and he did it, despite his handicap. He proved that he had been telling the truth when he'd said that his difficulties 'have not and never will impair my function as a doctor'. I was so incredibly proud of him, and I wasn't the only one either. Louisa had been in the back of that ambulance too, and had seen exactly what Martin had had to do, and she made sure that the whole village knew that without Martin's skilful and brave intervention, Peter would have undoubtedly died.

So finally the village accepted Martin as he was, brusque manner, blood phobia and all, but a wonderful doctor. He had proved himself.

So I thought that now surely Martin would make some progress in his relationship with Louisa, after the traumatic experience that they had shared. I bumped into Louisa a day or two after, expecting her to be full of praise for Martin. And she was – professionally. But it seemed that something had gone wrong yet again in their personal relationship, although I had no idea what.

"So, after what you two have been through together, maybe it would be good for you to go out and celebrate, you know, now that young Peter is on the mend," I suggested hopefully.

Louisa gave me very scornful look as she seemed to pull herself up to her full height before she replied.

"It's true that your nephew is an amazing and very talented doctor Joan, and it was very lucky for Peter that he was there. But Martin also happens to be one of the most incredibly rude men that I have ever encountered."

With that she walked off, leaving me dumbfounded. What on earth had Martin managed to do this time? I didn't suppose for one minute that I was ever going to really find out, but I decided I was jolly well going to try.

**xXx**

"What on earth did you say or do to upset Louisa?" I demanded to know from Martin, when I went round later that evening.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, with a decidedly shifty look on his face, as he busied himself with making us a coffee.

"Oh come on Marty! I'm not stupid. Louisa made it very clear to me that you had behaved in some way that she found upsetting."

"Why, what did she say? What has she told you?"

He just couldn't help asking, so I was sure that he knew perfectly well what I was getting at.

"Just that you were one of the rudest men that she has ever met. So come on, out with it. What happened? Must have been something that happened after you were at the hospital together, hmm?" I wasn't giving up this time, determined to get to the bottom of things.

"I resent that actually, because I wasn't rude to her. I was just... erm…concerned, that's all," he tried to defend himself.

"In what way concerned? What did you actually say?" I had a horrid feeling that it was this 'concern' that had somehow deeply offended Louisa.

"I just enquired if she had a regular dental hygiene routine, that's all. So that I could be sure that she didn't have any serious underlying problems…."

"You don't mean…you didn't tell her…what kind of activity were you engaged in at the time?"

"I'm not sure that's any of your business, Auntie Joan!"

By Martin's bashful expression, I quickly surmised the situation.

"You didn't ask her when you'd just been kissing her did you? Oh Marty, please tell me you didn't start lecturing her in the middle of a romantic clinch!" The trouble was that I could just imagine him doing _exactly_ that. Another of the Ellingham curses – being brutally honest at the expense of tact.

"Well, a 'romantic clinch', as you term it, when one is in close proximity, happens to present a unique opportunity to observe symptoms that may not otherwise be apparent, and actually I think that she should be jolly pleased by my thoughtful concern for her welfare. All this stupid talk of romance, what's more important – lying and pretending, or making sure she's fit and healthy?"

"Do you not have a single romantic bone in your body Martin? Don't you ever want to get a woman into your bed, are you just not interested in sex or something?" I asked incredulously. What planet was this man on, did he not have any normal inclinations or desires?

"So you're saying I should lie to Louisa just to get her into bed?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at me.

"No, of course not, but maybe you could be just be a bit more tactful, more mindful of her feelings. No one likes to be told they have bad breath, especially when they've just been kissing," I pointed out. Surely he couldn't really be that clueless, could he?

"Well I'm afraid I can't tell a convenient lie just to enhance the prospect of a sexual interlude. That's not my way," he told me rather piously.

"But can't you just keep your mouth shut and say nothing instead?" I suggested.

"Look, I told you I was no good at romance and all that stuff, and all this just proves my point, so I think in future I'm better off just keeping myself to myself."

"Oh Marty! If you'd only learn just to…"

"I have learnt – I've learnt that romance just isn't for me," he told me firmly.

However, for all his protestations it was clear to me that Martin really didn't like it at all when Danny Steel re-appeared on the scene to sweep Louisa off her feet, and he just had to stand back and jealously watch while their romance blossomed right under his nose.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 24**

Muriel Steel was incredibly proud of her son Danny, as most mothers naturally are of their offspring. Privately I thought that she had rather spoiled and overindulged him as she'd brought him up, but then maybe I would have done the same if I had ever been lucky enough to have had a child of my own. And of course these days, Danny was a grown man with a successful career as an architect in London, although I knew that he phoned his mother just about every evening to keep in touch.

Muriel had not coped terribly well when her husband Eric had sadly passed away, and so Helen and I kept a close eye on her now, one of us popping in to see her most days if we could. Of course it was harder for Helen as she still had her Phil to look after, whereas I just had myself to please.

From his phone calls, Danny seemed to have got it into his head that his mother was suffering from dementia and would be better off in a home, but I thought he was overreacting and ignoring his mother's wishes.

"I don't want to end up in one of those ghastly homes for the old like that High Trees place Joan. I really don't think I could stand it you know, just being left in the corner to fade away," Muriel told me nearly every day.

"Don't worry, that's never going to happen while I'm around," I always promised her – and I meant it. She had been a very good and loyal friend to me over the years. She had not been judgemental in any way when my affair with John had come to light, she was one of the few people who seemed to see things from my side and understand how it had come about - probably because she liked John, he was a friend of her husband and she had found him to be rather charming. Helen, on the other hand, had hated John, and thought me very disloyal to my Phil, whom she had always thought the world of, so she had struggled to accept things, and I didn't really blame her. I would probably have been the same if it had been the other way round, but it had meant that things between us had cooled at that time. However, after John had left and my Phil had become so ill, both friends had rallied round to help and give me their full support in so many countless ways, and you don't forget things like that in a hurry. So now, when either of those two ladies needed my help, I gave it without a second thought.

When Mu slipped on some post I'd stupidly left on the stairs and twisted her ankle, I called Martin in to have a look at her. He was extremely grumpy about having to make a house call, but he examined her and quickly surmised that she had sprained her ankle. He prescribed some tablets and told her to rest it, and was about to leave when I asked if she seemed alright to him, thinking that if I could tell Danny that a doctor had assessed her as being fine, then maybe he could be persuaded to drop his plans to move his mother into a home. Reluctantly Martin returned to ask Muriel some questions, and when he quickly assessed that her responses indicated that she seemed normal, I was delighted.

However, later on when Muriel was discovered bizarrely walking into the sea because she thought that was the way to the Post Office, it seemed that she was far worse than I had realised, and I felt terribly guilty that I simply hadn't been able to see what must have been right under my nose. Despite my protests that I could look after her, Danny and Martin were now in agreement that she was dementing and needed round the clock care that only a nursing home could provide. And so it was arranged that High Trees would take her straight away.

But it wasn't long before Martin proved yet again what a brilliant doctor he was, when he worked out that Mu was not in fact dementing, she was simply suffering from confusion brought about by dehydration. Having initially been furious with Martin for interfering with his plans for his mother, Danny apologised once he saw the transformation brought about by the simple measure of increasing her fluid intake following Martin's diagnosis. However apology or not, I could see that Martin had taken one of his intense dislikes to Danny, and would never get on with him, even if there had been no 'Louisa' factor influencing his opinion.

I witnessed the reunion between Louisa and Danny when she came up to visit Muriel in High Trees while Danny and I both happened to be there. Louisa had been pretty close to Muriel in the years when she'd been Danny's girlfriend, and she'd always been very good about keeping in touch with her, so I wasn't really that surprised to see her there.

Louisa and Danny had seen each other briefly when Muriel had been taken to the pub after her walking into the sea episode, and now it was clear that Danny was delighted to see Louisa again, as he hurried over to kiss her on the cheek when she walked in.

"Lou! My word, you haven't changed one bit, still as beautiful as ever," he grinned, as he studied her closely. Somehow I couldn't ever imagine Martin greeting her in such a complimentary way.

Louisa smiled back at him.

"Yeah, good to see you too Dan," she replied, returning the kiss, as Muriel and I looked on with interest.

Now that she was feeling so much better, Mu soon made it plain that she was anxious to get back to her 'friends' on the bowling green. To my amazement she was enjoying herself so much, that she was now saying that she wanted to stay at High Trees and not go back home. I realised that neither of us had had any real idea of what High Trees was actually like, and I was happy that my friend seemed to like it so much. In any case, we took the hint and left her to it to make our way back to the village.

"I can't tell you how relieved I am to see mum back to her usual old self, praise be to God," Danny exclaimed, clasping his hands together and looking up towards the heavens. "So how about we go and celebrate together?"

"Yes, it really is great to see her more like her old self again. Um...what exactly did you have in mind?" Louisa asked rather tentatively. I think she was as surprised as I was by Danny's apparent 'born again' Christianity, and maybe wondered if he meant going church to give thanks. He had never shown any interest whatsoever in religion in the past, so it really was quite a radical change that we noticed in him.

"Maybe a drink at the pub? It'd be just like old times wouldn't it? And Joan, you'll join us too won't you? Just to show there are no hard feelings between us now. I realise you were just being a concerned friend to mum, thinking that she didn't want to go into a home. But of course now everyone is happy with how things have turned out. The Good Lord really does have a way of arranging things for the best doesn't he?"

Louisa and I exchanged bemused glances between us, but as Danny was clearly being very genuine and friendly, I accepted his offer, not wanting to seem in any way churlish.

"OK I'll just come for one quick drink, then I really must get back to the farm," I replied.

I watched as Danny chatted away companionably to Louisa while we walked back into the village and made our way to the pub. He was very easy company, and I could see Louisa relaxing and laughing with him – they had a lot in common with their shared childhood to look back on. And of course he was a rather good looking man, with his dark wavy hair and effortlessly smart but casual clothes, even if he wasn't as tall and distinguished as Martin, and I had to admit that Danny and Louisa made an attractive couple together.

I wondered if the same thought occurred to Martin as we bumped into him on our way, but in any case I was delighted to see him, as I wanted to tell him how proud I was of him for the way that he had so skilfully diagnosed Muriel and solved her apparent 'dementia'. I told him that Mu was now back to her old self.

"Pretty annoying then," Martin observed, and I remembered her rather unkind comments to him about not being able to keep up with the big boys in London.

"Vile," I agreed, knowing only too well that Muriel had a pretty sharp tongue at times.

Martin was staring at Louisa as he usually did, unable to help himself it seemed. Danny was thanking Martin for curing his mother, and noticed the look, and so introduced 'Lou' to Martin, before realising that they would inevitably have already met in such a small village. Danny tried to invite Martin along for a drink as well, but Martin abruptly stopped him in his tracks, as he brusquely told him,

"Enjoy your evening," as he headed off in the opposite direction.

"Bless you," Danny called after him.

As I trailed after the young couple, I swear I heard Martin mutter sarcastically,

"I didn't sneeze."

**xXx**

"So I think I might spend a bit of time down here in Cornwall, seeing as I'm between projects in London. Maybe it's the right time for me to take a bit of a break, I have been working all hours recently, burning the candle at both ends. Perhaps it's all in the greater plan, this happening now," Danny explained as we sat and had our drinks.

"Oh, right, I thought you'd be itching to get back to the big smoke," Louisa commented.

"Well, maybe I needed reminding of some of the benefits of life here in the village," Danny said, as he looked over at Louisa, and I saw her blush a little as she realised what he seemed to be implying.

"What will you do about your mum's place, if she's going to stay on at High Trees?" I enquired, concerned about what would happen if Mu had a change of heart.

"I hadn't really thought that far ahead, to be honest Joan. But I've noticed that there are quite a few things that need doing at mum's place, so while I'm down here I might as well crack on and get them sorted. Whatever happens, they need doing, whether the place eventually gets sold or not," Danny explained, and I could see the sense in what he was saying. It was a large house, and things had inevitably been rather neglected since Muriel had been widowed.

"So, what about you Lou? Are you happy being a teacher in our old school? Seems as if you've gone full circle really doesn't it, ending up where you started out," Danny asked amiably.

"Well, it's not common knowledge as yet, but the Headship will be coming vacant shortly, so I've decided to apply for it," Louisa told us in a conspiratorial whisper as she looked round to make sure no one else would hear.

"Lou! That's just great! You'll make a wonderful Head Mistress. So you definitely see your future here in Cornwall then, you don't find it too…restrictive?" he enquired.

"Well I haven't actually got the Headship, and there are bound to be other candidates, so no counting my chickens just yet …but yes, I find it very rewarding working in such a close knit community, I love the fact that you can really make a difference here actually," Louisa explained rather defensively.

"Yes, yes, of course I can see how that would be, I didn't mean to imply…" Danny tried to backtrack. "And…umm…no 'significant other' then? I thought you'd be married with a brood of kids by now."

I could see by Louisa's face that this was a rather sensitive area and probably not the most tactful of questions.

"No, no 'significant other'," Louisa replied, as she sighed and sipped her drink. "I suppose I've really been too busy, what with my job and so on. How about you? What about that Arabella that you were so close to at one time?"

"Bella? Oh gosh, that fizzled out years ago, and like you I've been stupidly busy with my job, so I'm most definitely single these days," Danny explained.

I sat quietly listening to this exchange with a sinking heart. They'd covered more ground in their couple of minutes chat than I imagined Martin had with Louisa in all the time he'd known her. What chance did he stand? What I heard next confirmed my fears.

"Look Lou, I'd love it if we could spend sometime together catching up while I'm back, what do you say hmm? We used to be so close didn't we, and I know it was my fault that we drifted apart…"

"I don't know about 'drifted' apart Danny. As I recall it was more like a cataclysmic split, brought about by a certain Arabella and the rest of that gang that you got so pally with," Louisa reminded him somewhat acidly.

"Well, that was all a long time ago, and I was just a very silly young boy back then. I've re-assessed my values now that I have the Good Lord in my life, so I'd really like it if we could start afresh, if you could forgive my previous foolish and thoughtless behaviour," Danny pleaded, as he took her hand in his and looked her in the eye with what seemed like sincerity.

"Yes, well, I'm sure we can still be friends Danny," Louisa replied, somewhat embarrassed by his forward manner, as she pulled her hand away.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it then," I stated, as I stood up to leave. "Thanks for the drink Danny, I'm sure I'll see you around if you're going to be staying on for a while."

"Oh right, yes Joan, no doubt we'll bump into each other. And do pass my thanks on to Martin again won't you, for the way he looked after mum. He really is a miracle worker isn't he?" Danny told me.

As I left, I thought to myself that Martin was going to have to be a very special miracle worker indeed if he wasn't going to lose Louisa to Danny, because they certainly looked to be a very cosy couple, sitting laughing and joking together in the pub.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 25**

"I don't see why everyone seems to assume that part of the responsibility of being the GP in this village is having to get embroiled in time wasting activities such as being a school governor. It seems that stupid bloody Elaine agreed on my behalf, when she'd never even consulted me on the matter. I'd have informed her that I have far more important things to occupy my time," Martin grumbled to me one evening as we sat and had supper together.

He had been even grumpier, terse and rude than usual with everyone of late, and I put it down to the fact that undoubtedly he kept seeing Louisa and Danny out together, and had to listen to all the gossip that was flying around about how close they were becoming again. And I guessed that he felt very jealous, yet frustrated and helpless to do anything about his feelings. So in his usual way of dealing with things, he just got nasty and irritable, and he could have a very cruel and wicked tongue on him at times.

"Goes with the territory I'm afraid Martin, being part of the community, so you'll just have to get on with it," I informed him.

"Yes, well, it means that I've now been roped in to sit on the wretched interview panel for the new Head Teacher," he continued with his grumbling.

"Oh right – and Louisa is one of the candidates, isn't she?" I said, remembering our conversation in the pub.

"Yes, she is."

"That's good."

"Not really no. She seems to think…she's been very…she's not…"

"What?"

"Well, first of all she was extremely unhelpful about looking after the Cronk boy when his mother had to be admitted to hospital following her accident, because she claimed she was too busy preparing for her job interview. So he ended up staying with me, which was _most_ inconvenient, when clearly _she _was far more suited to the task."

"Why was she more suited than you?"

"Because she's a woman! That's what women are supposed to do isn't it, look after children, especially a teacher like her."

"Oh Marty, that's a terribly old fashioned view!"

He really did have some views from the ark, he needed a jolly good shake up to sort him out I felt. And of course, Louisa was just the woman to do this in my opinion. She really could be very good for him, if only they could get it together instead of constantly bickering as they inevitably seemed doomed to do. I thought he also needed shaking up in a few other areas too. Louisa had clearly awoken feelings in him that he'd kept suppressed for far too long, which was simply not healthy – not if he was a normal red blooded male with normal urges, and I was sure this 'suppressing' was what often led to him being so irascible.

"And then she had the gall to criticize me just because of what the boy was watching on the television to keep him occupied, while I was busy cooking and cleaning up after him– some sort of educational DVD he'd told me it was, but oh no, Miss High and Mighty deemed it unsuitable, just because it mentioned 'virgin's eyeball'."

"It _what_…?"

"Mind you, she always seems to think she knows better than anyone else about her precious pupils, she's completely ignored my advice, and has allowed the impetigo cases to attend school, so now we're going to have God knows how many more new cases," Martin was getting into his stride for his ill tempered rant - Louisa seemed to have really wound him up.

"Then she had the nerve to try and wheedle herself into my good books, sat here bold as brass, drinking my coffee, then tried to suck up to me, just to make sure she got my vote for the Head Teacher vacancy. Well I soon put her right about that, told her she would get my vote – only _if_ she was indeed the best candidate for the job."

"Oh for heavens sake Marty…"

"She didn't like that I can tell you, went off in a huff just because I'd worked it out. She thinks I'd fall for that, just because we've…she thinks she can…you know," he blustered. Whatever kind of romantic clinch had gone on between these two previously was clearly still on Martin's mind.

"That really doesn't sound like Louisa to me Martin, she's not like that at all. I think it far more likely that maybe she was just trying to be friendly and sociable, maybe because she actually likes you – has that ever occurred to you? Why do you always have to be so suspicious of people's motives?" I was sure that Martin had misread the signals here, but I was also well aware that he had had good cause over the years to mistrust people.

"Well why else would she be all friendly to me when she's seeing that …that architect chap? What she sees in that sanctimonious little twerp I can't imagine, but if that's her choice…"

Now we were at the heart of the matter, the _real_ reason why he'd been so off with Louisa. Suddenly I could see the hurt and vulnerability in his eyes as he let his guard down for just a few seconds.

"They're old friends, went to school together, known each other for years, so they're bound to want to catch up. That doesn't necessarily mean they're an item," I tried to reassure him, although I had to admit that I had seen them together an awful lot recently.

"None of my business anyway. It is of no interest or concern to me who Miss Glasson chooses to consort with," he lied, and the guard now came back up again on his emotions.

"Don't give up on her just yet hmm? Maybe you should try to be…_nice_…to her rather than so bloody stroppy!" I tried to advise him.

"Nice? You know me Auntie Joan. I speak as I find, tell it how it is, but I'm afraid I don't really do 'nice', it's just not me. So if Louisa Glasson can't handle hearing the truth, I can't help that. I will give her, and the other candidates a fair hearing at the job interview, and if in my opinion, she is the most adequate candidate, then she will get my vote. That's far better than being nice, that's being fair isn't it? She can't ask for more than that," Martin stated.

"No, Martin, I don't suppose she can," I wearily agreed, not feeling up to arguing with him any more.

**xXx**

Louisa must have been at least 'adequate' at the interview, because she got the job. She was now Portwenn's new Head Mistress, and I was very pleased for her, as I told her when I bumped into her in the village.

"Congratulations on your new job, Louisa! Wonderful news, well done!"

"Thanks Joan, I'm very pleased, although I must say I was a little surprised to be offered the position after the hard time I had of it at the interview, thanks to your nephew," she told me with a rather disgruntled expression. "Seems he somehow managed to give the impression to the interview panel that I had ignored his instructions for the children with impetigo, when if he'd only bothered to listen to me, he'd have known that I followed his instructions to the letter!"

"Seeing as you got the job, clearly you managed to correct that impression?" I pointed out.

"Well yes, but I don't think Martin is very happy with me all the same. I personally invited him to come along to my celebratory drinks, but he slunk off back to his surgery rather than come down and join us. Still, that's his choice I suppose," she told me with a sigh.

"Oh I'm sure it was nothing personal Louisa. You know Martin, not exactly a party animal is he? But I'm sure he's pleased for you. He certainly wouldn't have given you his vote if he hadn't thought you were the best candidate for the job. He may have many faults, but he is very honest, we at least have to give him that," I tried to defend my nephew.

"Brutally honest actually, is how I would describe him Joan, to the point of being cruel and unkind. Maybe sometimes he would be better off just keeping his thoughts and opinions to himself," she replied somewhat haughtily, as she now took her leave, and made her way towards the school.

And of course, then I remembered what Marty had let slip about his remarks concerning her dental hygiene following some sort of liaison between them. The stupid boy had clearly really hurt Louisa's feelings and so had sabotaged their budding relationship. And then I also saw Danny heading in the same direction, hurrying after her carrying a large bunch of beautiful flowers, and I thought for sure then that any romance between Martin and Louisa had definitely been nipped in the bud.

**xXx**

I still visited Muriel several times a week, reassured that she had settled in and was very happy indeed at High Trees. Of course terrible gossip that she was, she still liked to hear all the latest news from the village, but now she had some news of her own that she was bursting to tell me. Danny was definitely planning to stay permanently in Cornwall, she told me. We'd had several discussions concerning her son and Louisa, and Mu was delighted to see Danny's renewed interest in his childhood sweetheart. She felt that if Danny rekindled his relationship with Louisa, it would encourage him to abandon any plans to return to London, now that she would definitely be staying here in the village as Head Teacher.

"Don't you see Joan, it's all falling into place for my boy, I really think he means to settle down here in Cornwall, and then I'll be able to see so much more of him," she told me excitedly.

"But what about his career in London?" I queried. I thought that she was just fooling herself; that a very ambitious man like Danny would not be content to settle in such a rural backwater.

"Oh he's told me that he's got all that worked out, says he thinks it's all in God's plan for him, having to come down here when he did and meeting up with Louisa again. He can set up his own architects firm down here, Danny says there's lots of work, designing barn conversions, that kind of thing, and with all the internet and computer links, he says you can really work from anywhere these days,"

"I suppose that's true" I had to concede.

"And he's so fed up with London, he's had enough of that rat race and of course with Louisa here too….You know I think he might even propose to her before too long, he's been dropping all sorts of hints, so I've told him he can have the house, do what he likes with it. And did you hear him on the radio this week? They wanted him every day for 'National Home Improvement Week' because he's such an expert, he's got such a wonderful talent for decorating and all that kind of thing. It would be just perfect for them to live in that house and raise a family, I'm sure Louisa would be thrilled. Oh just think, they could bring my grandchildren up here to see me all the time, and of course they'd have such beautiful children together wouldn't they?" she continued, as she hugged herself happily.

I forced a smile onto my face and tried not to be jealous for what seemed to be the answer to all of Muriel's prayers, even if it would be mine – and I was sure Martin's – worst nightmare.


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 26**

One day I found myself in agreement with Louisa concerning Martin's curmudgeonly behaviour.

"Martin! I sometimes wonder if you've got a sensitive bone in your body!" I exclaimed at his very insensitive handling of my dear friend Helen's sudden death. As he was leaving their farm, he was grumbling and complaining about the lack of thanks he'd received for making a home visit, completely ignoring the fact that poor Phil Pratt was in a state of total shock and denial – or that I had just lost a very dear friend.

"What do you mean?" he asked me in surprise. He really couldn't see what I was getting at, about his appalling bed side manner in the circumstances.

And that was Martin's problem I suppose. He truly couldn't comprehend why people found his manner unacceptable. In this instance, as far as he was concerned, he'd attended his patient to carry out his duties as required, established that there had been no appropriate treatment to prevent his patient from dying, and had then followed the correct procedure in filling out all the necessary paperwork – job done. Martin certainly had no intention of providing a shoulder for Phil Pratt to cry on – that was simply not in his remit.

Martin hadn't even remembered that Helen was a good friend of mine, so it didn't occur to him that I was going to be upset too. Even when I reminded him, the best he could come up with was,

"Well, it's very sad, but life goes on. Not for Mrs Pratt obviously."

I'd thought Helen was getting better recently when I'd taken meals round for her, knowing that her husband was unlikely to be much good at nursing her. She'd been unwell, feeling weak and breathless, for a while, but had kept assuring me she was getting better and so didn't need to see a doctor. I was going to miss her friendship very much, especially with Muriel now in High Trees. And of course I wasn't the only one who was going to miss her, there was her Phil too.

I'd always found Phil Pratt a difficult man to get along with at the best of times, but now he started acting very strangely indeed, throwing things through my window, slashing the tyres on my truck, and behaving threateningly with his gun on the border between our farms. He seemed to think that Martin could have saved Helen, that he should have done more. I knew that wasn't true, but I was also aware that Martin had not done anything to reassure Phil, or to explain things to him which I felt could have calmed him down somewhat. Phil had a terrible temper on him, not helped by his whiskey drinking habit. I knew he had not always treated Helen very well, and recently she had confessed that he had bullied her and even hit her when she had confronted him because she believed he was having an affair.

However, it soon became all too clear just why Phil had never been able to be physically close to Helen, and probably why he had felt so guilty over the years, making him bad tempered and surly. When he had a terrible accident with some farm equipment, it was his _boyfriend_ , the tanker driver who had nearly run me off the road in his hurry to get to see Phil, who was now holding his hand and declaring his undying love.

Who would have thought?

**xXx**

Several letters had arrived for me from Portugal, in my brother's handwriting. I'd torn them up and chucked them straight in the bin without reading them. I had no desire to have any contact whatsoever with him, not after he'd so callously denied us access to Marty by refusing to allow him to stay with me and Phil. So when Martin told me he'd also had a letter from his parents, informing him that they were coming to visit, I assumed that my letters had also been something to do with this. I was very surprised by this visit after so many years, and I couldn't help but suspect some sort of ulterior motive rather than a sudden surge of parental love and concern for their only offspring.

And of course it turned out that I was right. As usual, my gut instinct concerning my brother was correct. He'd come because he was penniless after losing all his money on some ridiculous golf course scheme in Portugal. So now he wanted his share of the farmhouse that Uncle Dick had left us – plus rent for the intervening years.

What hurt me the most was Martin's apparent complicity in this scheme of his father's to turf me out of my home. He sat there like some sort of stupid goldfish with his mouth gaping open as his father coolly stated that Martin had advised him of the value of the farm. How could he!

I looked over his mother sitting there watching the proceedings with a self satisfied little smirk on her face. The years had been kind to her, she was still a slim, elegant woman, attired as she was in her black skirt suit and her pearl necklace. She still had the affect of making me feel frumpy, dowdy and fat, dressed as I was for working on the farm. But then I wouldn't ever want to be like her, because she was still as cold, hard, and bitter as ever. There was no warmth or compassion to the woman at all.

Things became heated as we argued, and when I started to tell Martin that I'd been more of a mother to him than Margaret had ever been, she sighed wearily and ordered her son,

"Martin. The car. Please."

Martin was trying to say something to me, no doubt to make some excuse for his terrible betrayal, but I wanted nothing to do with him and told him to get out.

Of course I soon discovered that things were not how they seemed at all. I got a phone call, followed up by a letter from the solicitors, informing me that Martin was selling his Kensington flat in order to pay off his father and allow me to stay at Havenhurst. At first I couldn't understand why on earth he hadn't chosen to enlightened me sooner of the true situation, but when I thought about it, I realised that I hadn't really allowed him to get a word in edgewise and then I had refused to talk to him when he'd rung later. So I knew that I had to talk to the dear boy to apologise, eat humble pie and smooth things over. He really had acted as a son would towards me, and I would never forget it.

**xXx**

I didn't know how Martin had managed it, I really didn't, and I despaired of him. He was such a brilliant doctor, so gifted in his ability to diagnose patients and save lives. And yet he was so incredibly dense and inept in his ability to work things out with Louisa despite the fact that he must have impressed her several times recently because he had now saved the lives of two of her best friends. First there had been Caroline Bosman, who had turned out to be diabetic rather than alcoholic as everyone had wrongly assumed, and then he had saved Danny Steels' life when he had suffered a collapsed lung after stupidly not wearing a face mask when sanding the wooden floors in Muriel's house.

In both cases, Louisa had been present and had witnessed his great presence of mind and skilful intervention, so surely he had twice had the perfect opportunity to cash in on the fantastic impression he must have made on her, to smooth things between them. But no, he hadn't it seemed, because Louisa was still with Danny.

Quite frankly, Danny was beginning to grate on my nerves with his newly found, highly enthusiastic 'God Squad' membership, and I suspected that it may well have been having a similar effect on Louisa, remembering her reaction when Danny had first returned and had surprised us with his religious fervour – I think it made her feel as uncomfortable as it did me, because at times I wondered if he was really sincere in his beliefs and his claim that God had brought him back to Cornwall for a fresh start. I had heard rumours that in fact things had not been going so well for him in London, that he had over reached himself and that his work had dried up because his tenders were too high, so in fact he had been only too happy to leave things behind to come down, even though he was giving the impression that he'd had to tear himself away from his thriving business.

However, Louisa had been spending a lot of time with him at the house, helping with the decorating, and he'd been very lucky that she'd been with him when he'd collapsed. He'd also been very lucky that Martin had dropped everything when Louisa had called him and rushed up to the house. We'd played the incident down to Muriel, but the truth of the matter was that Danny could well have died if Martin hadn't got there when he did to intervene with decisive action.

As Martin was a man of science, Danny's constant reference to 'divine intervention' and the like did not sit well with him, and I had caught a look of extreme scepticism pass over his face as he'd had to listen to Danny burbling on when he had profusely thanked him for saving his life, and even Louisa had had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed.

But the fact of the matter was that Martin was still at odds with Louisa, and she was still seeing Danny. I had sometimes seen Louisa glancing at Martin, chewing her lip, as she had a habit of doing when she was nervous or unsure about something. So I still had the feeling that if only Martin would push himself, he still stood a chance with the girl he had fallen for. But he never did. The stupid boy just watched from afar, and glowered in a green eyed fog of unhappiness.

**xXx**

"He's done it! He's proposed, he's asked Louisa to marry him!" Muriel was beside herself with her news when I next visited.

"Oh right, I see, so umm…has she accepted, has she said yes?" I enquired with a sinking heart.

"Well of course she's going to accept him! Why on earth wouldn't she? My Daniel is everything she could possibly want, isn't he?" Muriel brushed aside my question. "Oh I shall have to have a new outfit, maybe you could take me to Truro shopping, hmm Joan? I'll have to look my best as the mother of the groom. And a big hat, I want to have a really big hat, I think I can get away with it, especially as Louisa's mother is unlikely to be coming to the wedding is she?"

Muriel's mind was racing ahead in her excitement, and I just let her chattering wash over me as I let the news sink in. How was Martin going to take this, I wondered. As he was such a classic Ellingham male, I knew that he would never actually tell me about his 'feelings', but I also knew that this news would cut him to the quick when he found out.

So when I bumped into him in the village shortly after I left Mu, I thought it only fair to prepare him for the worst, especially as we could both see Louisa over at the school, ushering a couple of her pupils up the steps of the side entrance. Clearly the word was out about Danny's proposal because the children were cheekily humming 'Here comes the bride'.

"He's keen, very keen you know. There are rumours…that he's proposed," I told Martin as he stared over at her.

"Yes, I know, I have heard," he snapped back at me.

"Well for goodness sake, say _something_, do _something_, before it's too late," I urged him, and for once he didn't deny that he knew what I was talking about, but still he hesitated and hung back.

"Later, maybe…" he muttered.

"She's just there Martin, go on!" I hissed at him, and finally he did wander over to talk to her, having told me to go away.

So I couldn't get close enough to eavesdrop on what exactly was being said, but I thought that maybe I heard them talking about Mark Mylow and his duplicitous fiancé Julie Mitchell. In any case, by Louisa's expression, it wasn't a declaration of love Martin was uttering, and I thought he had truly blown his chances.

**xXx**

But it transpired later that it was Danny who had blown his chances. Having asked Louisa to marry him, declaring his intention of settling down with her in Muriel's old house, of setting up his own architectural consultancy down here in Cornwall, all it had taken for him to drop these plans, without a moments hesitation, was one phone call from London with the offer of a juicy contract there.

Muriel tried to make excuses for her son, to hide her disappointment, but it was plain to see that Danny had never really been committed to settling in Cornwall after all – he'd just been toying with the idea, but the lure of London life was just too strong for him to resist. Probably he was now claiming that this new contract in London was in fact God's plan for him, rather than Cornwall. How convenient.

"I think it's very unreasonable for Louisa to have refused to go to London with him," Muriel huffed. "A man's career has to take precedence over a woman's, surely she can see that, especially if they are planning to have a family. He can make far more money and give them a better life style in London, that's what he told me. And she could still teach in London after all. No, I think she's being very unreasonable."

"Well I'm sorry Mu, but I'm afraid I'm with Louisa – your Danny has blown hot and cold with her, one minute Cornwall, the next London, so actually, I really don't blame her for breaking up with him," I told my friend, speaking my mind in my usual forthright manner. Of course I couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe this meant that Martin might be able to resurrect his relationship with Louisa. For all his undoubted faults, he was at least consistent and reliable wasn't he?"

And the gossip and rumours I heard the following morning gave me some cause for hope. Martin had been found uncharacteristically very hung-over by Pauline when she turned up for work, with evidence of a wine bottle and _two_ glasses on his kitchen table. I hoped and prayed that this might possibly mean that finally Martin had taken his relationship with Louisa to the next stage – who else could he possibly have been entertaining after all?

'Please let this mean what I hope it mean_s'_, I thought to myself - that Louisa had plied Martin with enough alcohol to make him seducible, that maybe they had finally actually ended up in bed together. That was _exactly_ what Martin needed to loosen him up in my opinion, the love of a good woman like Louisa.

Then I remembered his ridiculously low tolerance to alcohol.

"Oh God, please don't say the stupid boy fell asleep before he actually managed to do the deed," I muttered to myself.


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 27**

No body likes to admit that they are getting old, and I was no different. Despite the fact that my dear friend Helen had passed away, and that my other friend Muriel was now in a High Trees, I prided myself that I was still fighting fit and full of life.

My body, however, seemed to have other ideas. My joints ached all the time, especially my back, hips and knees. But I convinced myself that it was just a passing phase, due to over exerting myself on the farm and was nothing to make a fuss about. I couldn't remember the last time I'd consulted a doctor – i.e. Martin – over my health. He nagged me about having all the usual checks for a woman of my age – mammogram, smears, well woman checks, all that kind of thing, and I kept the appointments he insisted on making for me at the hospital clinic just to keep him quiet really. But truthfully I considered it to be waste of my time hanging around these places, and it always brought back so many painful memories of the interminable hours I'd spent there with my Phil, waiting for tests, then waiting for the results – and of course it had never been good news for him.

So when Martin demanded to know why I was limping when I popped in one morning to return the fish kettle that I'd borrowed from him, I insisted,

"I'm not limping. I'm fine"

"Only because you've stopped walking," Martin said sceptically, staring hard at me.

"Haven't you got patients to see," I replied evasively, and then quickly made my escape before Martin could question me any more.

However, things came to a head the next day as I was driving into the village. My leg was really giving me grief, and I kept rubbing it to try and ease the pain, but that didn't mean I wasn't paying attention to the road. So I braked hard as soon as I saw old Bill Cleary step out into the road, but I still had to swerve to avoid him and so I drove into the back of a white van parked on the side of the road.

Of course it was pandemonium then, all hell let loose as the alarm went off on the van. It turned out that Martin was just nearby, so he quickly checked Bill Cleary over, but in any case I knew I hadn't hit him. I just wondered why on earth his faithful guide dog Ray had let the poor blind old boy wander out into the road like that, he was normally so protective of him, it was really quite sweet to see. I could only assume that something had distracted him in some way.

Our new village policeman, PC Penhale, appeared as if from nowhere, and started questioning me, as I gratefully sipped a mug of tea that someone had thoughtfully brought out to me from one of the nearby cottages.

"How fast were you going?" he demanded to know, notebook in hand with pencil poised.

"I don't know, but I certainly wasn't speeding" I assured him.

"Maybe you're just too old to be driving," he said pityingly, as he looked at me.

"How dare you!" Bloody cheek of the man, and I was just about to give him a piece of my mind when Martin came over to me.

" Are you alright?" he asked.

"Do you mind not talking to the suspect till I've finished my enquiries," the stupid PC interrupted.

Martin gave him one of his blackest looks.

"She's not a suspect, she's my Aunt," he informed him in his most authoritative tone, and to my surprise and great relief, Penhale backed right off.

"Well in that case we'll say no more. How's that with you, doctor?"

Martin didn't deign to reply, and Penhale decided to leave us to it.

"Is your leg hurting?" Martin's tone meant that he wasn't going to be fobbed off, so I finally admitted with a sigh,

"Yes, and my back is killing me too."

"Right. I want to give you a full check up back in my surgery. No arguments this time," he insisted as I opened my mouth to protest.

**xXx**

Once Martin had completed his very thorough examination, he informed me that he thought my back pain was due to osteoporosis, and that he wanted me to go for some special X ray to check my bone density. My heart sank, because little old ladies suffered from osteoporosis, and that wasn't how I saw myself at all, even if others, such as that idiot Penhale, clearly did. The nerve of the man, suggesting that I was too old to be driving - that was still making my blood boil.

"I'll have to waste an entire day sitting round some ghastly clinic," I grumbled bad temperedly to Martin.

"Well if you'd like to end your life bent double, in agony, with your limbs snapping like twigs…" Martin retorted, as he raised his eyebrows at me. Trust him not to spare me the gory details, but I realised that in his own way, he was showing concern for me.

"Alright, alright, I'll have the stupid scan." I agreed irritably.

"I'm going to give you some stupid hormone replacement pills too," he added, as he wrote out a prescription for me.

"Why?" I questioned, never having been very keen on taking anything I didn't need to. Phil had been given countless drugs to take that had never seemed to help at all, and had in fact often caused even worse side effects. Now I followed organic principles, with no unnecessary chemicals or drugs.

"Because that's what I'm prescribing you," he replied, in his typically arrogant 'doctors know best' manner which I found very condescending.

"Martin!"

"The oestrogen will slow down your bone loss and promote bone formation" he explained, as he gave me a weary glance.

"Right. Thank you." I decided that I had to trust that Martin knew what was best for me in this instance – he was a very good doctor indeed, for all his faults.

"Next time come and see me straight away," he ordered.

"Only if you stop treating me like one of your patients," I told him, expecting at least some degree of respect as his Aunt.

"You _are_ one of my patients," he replied, having to have the last word, as always.

**xXx**

Something seemed to have changed between Martin and Louisa. Whether it was because she'd sent Danny packing, or whether it was surviving the disastrous events together caused by the return of Terry Glasson I didn't know, but Martin seemed to have become a little more confident around her, although I'd been very disappointed when nothing further seemed to have developed between them following the wine drinking episode. Martin had refused point blank to elaborate or be drawn in any way about that evening, despite my best efforts to glean some snippets of information from him.

So when Martin rung one afternoon and asked if I would mind if he changed our usual weekly supper date to another night, I couldn't help trying to fish for information once more.

"Of course I don't mind, something come up has it? Had a better offer?" I probed.

"Well…umm… yes…another…something…" Martin mumbled, his manner immediately alerting my radar.

"Come on then, out with it, what are you doing instead? I think I have the right to know who you're standing me up for hmm?"

"I'm not standing you up, I'm just rearranging that's all," he protested.

"Are you seeing Louisa by any chance?" I asked hopefully, having seen them chatting amicably to each other earlier on.

"Yes, actually, she's invited me to supper. No big deal."

"Oh that's wonderful Marty! Let me know how you get on, and try not to be…try not to…" I was trying to hint to him that maybe he should try not to be his usual tactless self.

"It's just supper at her cottage Auntie Joan. I'm sure I can manage that adequately," he told me dryly.

"If you say so Marty."

Manage to adequately put your foot in it, that was what concerned me. But of course, I couldn't do anything about it anyway, except cross my fingers and hope for the best.

**xXx**

I gathered from Bert that Martin and Louisa had ended up going to the opening night at his new restaurant.

"Caused a right scene he did, that nephew of yours, just over a little bit of blood. Completely unnecessary it was, but everyone upped and left after his performance. And then that Penhale, he had to go and stick his nose in too, about me having the correct drinks licence. I'm just trying to set up a new business, make an honest living, and all folk seem to want to do is put obstacles in my way," he grumbled at me.

"Yes well, no doubt they felt that they were just doing their jobs," I tried to excuse them. Bert Large running a restaurant was a million miles away from his previous role as village plumber, and I really wasn't convinced that he had the necessary skills, experience or expertise for such an enterprise, especially as he didn't have Al to help keep him in line as he'd gone off travelling to some far off place. Consequently, I'd decided to give the 'Large Restaurant' opening night a miss and was somewhat surprised to hear that Martin had gone along, knowing how fastidious he was about all matters concerning hygiene.

"Even Louisa upped and left, I'd have expected better of her. Must be the influence of the Doc, her new boyfriend, that's all I can put it down too," he sniffed his disapproval.

I smiled to myself because I liked what I was hearing – that the village was categorising Martin as Louisa's new boyfriend. However, when I tried to get hold of Martin to quiz him about his romantic evening, he was far too busy dealing with an outbreak of vomiting, caused it seemed by eating food from Bert's restaurant. Poor Louisa was one of the victims, and I think Martin rushed straight over to see her when he found out, that's what I was told anyway by someone who had seen him running towards her cottage - and Martin didn't very often run anywhere.

**xXx**

Maybe Martin was learning to be more human in other ways too– at least that was what I liked to believe.

I was running low on my HRT tablets, so I called in early one morning before surgery – I didn't think I needed a proper appointment for just a repeat prescription.

"Would you like an espresso?" Martin asked, as he made himself one from his fancy machine. He was very snobby about his coffee, so I couldn't resist winding him up a little bit.

"Haven't you got any instant?"

As he looked at me in disbelief, I laughed and told him that I'd love an espresso. I sat down at the table and started to scan the newspaper as we chatted.

I'd previously mentioned to Martin that Penhale had been acting very strangely, seeming very reluctant to come out of one of the shops in the village, as if he was scared of being outside. So now I asked him,

"Did you speak to Penhale?"

"Yes I did – the man's a complete cup cake!" Martin exclaimed, before he pulled himself up. "I can't discuss my patients."

"Well isn't he agoraphobic?" I asked, thinking it was pretty obvious that the man was.

After a moment's hesitation, Martin agreed.

"Amongst other things, yes." And he then informed me that he intended to contact the relevant authorities to get the man replaced – grass him up, as I termed it. Despite the fact that I wasn't very impressed by Penhale, I thought Martin was being rather harsh – and rather hypocritical.

"I just wonder if it wouldn't be kinder to treat him rather than report him. He has a phobia, as do many people, but some of them carry on working. No one seems to mind," I pointed out to him, without spelling out in detail what I was getting at. From the look on his face it was clear that Martin knew exactly what I was referring to, and maybe it gave him some food for thought.

Whether or not Martin heeded any of what I said I'm not sure, but in any case Joe Penhale remained as our village bobby.


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 28**

I went for my bone density scan, and actually it wasn't nearly as bad as I expected. It was pretty straight forward, meaning that I was in and out in a very short time, much to my relief. They informed me that the results would be sent to my GP, and so I put it to the back of my mind and didn't really think about it any more. That was until I got a phone call from Pauline a couple of days later, telling me that Martin wanted to see me in his surgery that afternoon.

"I really don't need to bother with an appointment, I'll just pop in next time I'm in the village," I told her.

"No, Mrs Norton, he said you was to come in _straight away_ this afternoon. He can see you at half three he said," she insisted.

"Oh alright, I suppose I'd best do as his Lordship commands," I agreed reluctantly, knowing that I would only have a ticking off from my nephew if I didn't. I told myself that it was probably about my prescription, ignoring the little warning bells sounding at the back of my mind.

As I arrived at the surgery at the appointed time, I saw a man up a ladder painting the window frames of Martin's surgery, and I commented that it was about time the place had some attention to cheer it up a bit.

"Shame it's such a small job. Not that much work about," the painter replied. He was a man probably in his mid thirties, dark haired and cheery faced.

I had a thought then – I'd been meaning to give my kitchen a bit of a spruce up, but with my bad back I couldn't face doing it at the moment, so…

"Well actually my kitchen could do with a fresh coat of paint – if you've got time?" I suggested.

Edward Melville, as his name turned out to be, happily agreed, and we arranged that he would come up to Havenhurst later.

**xXx**

I breezed into Marty's surgery.

"I presume this is about a repeat prescription?" I said.

But when I saw the look on his face, my heart sank. Phil and I had seen that look many times before on doctors faces when they were about to give us bad news.

"Uh…no… it's not actually. I have the results of your bone density scan," Martin told me quietly, and I knew it wasn't going to be good news, and at that moment I wished I was anywhere but in the surgery. I didn't want to hear bad news, especially not from Martin, so I childishly tried avoidance tactics. I went over to his mantelpiece and admired the little wooden cabinet that was on there.

"Ooh! Is this…uh…is this new?"

"No," Martin replied, and then carried on, ignoring my futile attempt to bury my head in the sand. "Unfortunately, this confirms that you _do_ have osteoporosis. Have a seat."

With a resigned sigh I did as he bid me, and listened as he proceeded to advise me to have an oestrogen implant as the tablets I'd been taking wouldn't give me a high enough dose. So it must be pretty bad I realised, because I'd never heard of anyone else needing an implant. Martin was droning on about it being a simple procedure, he could do it at the surgery, no bigger than a grain of rice, inserted in the skin…blah… blah… blah…"

All I could think at that moment was that bloody doctors always thought they had all the answers, that they always knew best, but they bloody didn't, they couldn't bloody well save my poor Phil could they? Suddenly I snapped back at Martin.

"Well what if I don't want an implant?"

I saw a look of concern pass over Marty's craggy features as he sighed and then slowly spelled it out to me.

"Well then your bones will become increasingly weak and prone to breaks. I really think that the implant is your best option."

I realised that this was serious, because Martin was being unusually kind and patient with me, rather than his usual snappy self. So I decided that I might as well just get it over and done with.

"Right, well, let's do it now then."

I had to admit that Martin was very skilful and I didn't feel a thing when he inserted the implant. But he would keep fussing, telling me to let him know immediately if I had any problems. He was actually making things worse by being so bloody nice, even following me out, blathering on about some stupid leaflets, so I told him that it had already been a long day, and for once it was me who stomped off down the hill away from his surgery.

**xXx**

So now I was officially an old woman, with a proper old woman's disease. I sat down and tried to work out just where all the years had gone. When I looked in the mirror, I wasn't surprised that PC Penhale had thought that maybe I was too old to be driving when I'd had that accident. A short, dumpy, wrinkled, silver haired old biddy – that was what he'd seen in front of him.

Whatever had happened to the young, sexy, vibrant young woman that I'd been when I'd first arrived in Cornwall? I cast my mind back to think of when I'd been the happiest in my life, and instantly memories of when Phil and I had first met, and when we'd first married jumped into my mind. The future had seemed so rosy, everything had seemed possible then. I'd had the love of a good man who adored me, who had found me irresistible, and we'd been so happy together on the farm in those early years.

I put on some music to remind me of how I'd tried to teach Phil to waltz, so that he could take me to the village dance, and how Uncle Dick had collapsed laughing at his efforts – such sweet innocent fun.

I sat and looked at my engagement ring that Phil had proudly bought me, and at my wedding band that I never took off. I thought back to our wedding night, when Phil had been so thrilled to finally make love to me, but how I'd been mystified about what all the fuss with sex was to begin with. Of course it hadn't taken long for me to find the answer to that, and then Phil and I had been so close and loving in our happy marriage – at that time anyway.

Looking back, I realised that my affair with John had been an exciting distraction, escapism from my problems at the time, that I'd been flattered that he had been so attracted to me, but in the overall scheme of things, Phil was my true love. I'd never have got involved with John if… well I couldn't bear to think about the sad times, right now I just wanted to remember all the good times.

I thought about all the places that Phil had persuaded me to make love – not that I'd needed all that much persuading really. In the hay barn, up on the field, and of course, even on the kitchen table, and I smiled happily to myself because it had seemed so naughty, exciting – and fun. But all I could think now was that there didn't seem to be any fun in my life any more, and no one was ever going to find me irresistible in that way ever again, now that I was officially decrepit.

I was startled out of my reverie by the painter chap appearing at my door, which was ajar, as it usually was when I was at home.

"Oh it's you," I said, not really wanting to be disturbed from my happy memories, not wanting to come back to the grim reality of my life now.

He looked round the kitchen, and started burbling on about painting it 'sunrise yellow'.

"It'll just end up all smudged and dirty," I told him miserably, as I poured cold water on his enthusiasm.

He looked rather confused at this rather depressing response to his suggestion.

"Ah, the existential approach to decorating," he smiled at me, as he tried to make light of things. He started to talk about Art College, how he didn't really want to do decorating, and then he started talking about how he'd like to paint a portrait of me.

I snorted derisively at his suggestion.

"The last thing this world needs is a picture of me!"

But he kept banging on, and as I looked at him I realised that this was how con artists worked, preying on vulnerable and lonely ladies of a certain age who should know better. Well, I _did_ know better.

"Get out!" I ordered him, but then to my embarrassment, I burst into tears.

And Edward was incredibly sweet and understanding as he tenderly wiped my tears away.

"You're such a wonderful and beautiful woman Joan," he whispered to me, and I had to admit that it was good to hear a man speaking to me like that again, so I let myself believe him, just for a minute. Then he started stroking my cheek and kissing my tears away. I closed my eyes and it was as if Phil was here with me, and it felt wonderful.

**xXx**

"Martin! Oh God!"

Martin couldn't escape fast enough once he realised what he was witnessing taking place on my kitchen table. Mind you, ever the doctor, he still managed to stutter out something about the stupid pamphlets he'd brought for me to read before he stumbled out.

The moment had clearly passed for Edward and I, but he begged to see me again as soon as possible, and so I thought '_why not_?' We were both consenting adults, so who cared what anyone else thought, and why shouldn't I have a younger lover to brighten up my life, just for a while?

Of course I knew that wasn't how Marty would see things, but it was _my_ life, not his, so he could just like it or lump it. Maybe he should just try to concentrate on kick starting his own love life, then he wouldn't be so concerned about mine, I tried to tell myself.

But despite myself, I still felt guilty about my nephew. So I decided to take some eggs over as a peace offering, and try to smooth things over with him.

"I can feel you glowering right across the village," I joked with him as I walked into his kitchen, but he remained stony faced.

"Edward is fine, they've sent him home," I continued. I'd been concerned to hear that he'd had some sort of seizure, but he assured me that he was fine, that it was nothing.

"Any inflammation or irritation with your implant?" Martin enquired, completely ignoring my reference to Edward, as he busied himself around his kitchen and avoided my eye.

"It's the age difference that bothers you isn't it?" I tried to reason with him.

"None of my business," he replied, stony faced as ever.

"I'm not happy to sit in front of the fire and watch time tick by," I offered by way of explanation.

"Right."

"My life is not over and until it is, I intend to make the most of it."

"OK."

"For heavens sake _say_ something! If you have a problem with my relationship, let's talk about it," I shouted at him in exasperation at his unwillingness to even attempt to sort things out.

"I don't think it is a real relationship," he pronounced pompously.

"Well you'd know about that would you?" I retorted, thinking that as he hadn't had a 'real' relationship in twenty years, he was hardly qualified to judge.

"I know that sex on the kitchen table with a man fifty years your junior doesn't qualify as a real relationship," Martin declared.

"Yes, I'm sorry you saw that," I admitted. I couldn't deny that it had been horrendously embarrassing for everyone concerned. I really ought to learn to close the door in future.

"Must be that implant playing havoc with your hormonal levels," he diagnosed.

Why did he always have to have a medical explanation – why couldn't he accept that people have feelings, and needs? Not everyone was like him, always denying his own feelings and keeping them repressed in what I considered a most unhealthy way.

"Marty, this is not a medical problem. He makes me happy. He makes me…makes me feel…_younger_."

"Oh for God's sake! He's young enough to be your son. Probably got some Oedipal complex or something. Which means he thinks you're his mother!" Martin finally exploded at me.

"I know what it means, Martin. I just question your right to criticise considering your relationship history."

"It's not about me."

"Isn't it? Sometimes I think you want everybody to be as lonely and miserable as you are."

There, I'd said it out loud, the fact that I was sure that he _was_ lonely, however much he denied it. Any normal man would surely want someone to share his life, and especially his bed. No wonder he was always so tetchy and grumpy, probably because he was so bloody frustrated.

"I'm not lonely or miserable," he insisted.

"I _am_ going to continue to see Edward. It won't last forever and it certainly isn't true love, but it's what I want. So get used to it," I told him in no uncertain terms.

Good grief, Martin could be so like his father at times. And just because he seemed jealous that someone else was taking some of my attention was not going to stop me from enjoying this little fling, which was probably my last chance after all. I stormed off out of his kitchen, slamming the door as I went, but I still heard him shout after me,

"Osteoporosis and sexual intercourse on kitchen tables don't mix!"

**xXx**

So I continued seeing Edward, but we arranged to meet at the Wilson Hotel, where Edward was lodging in return for doing some jobs for Carrie Wilson, rather than at my farm.

Edward was a rather unusual lover it seemed to me, because although he was always very keen and obviously ready for action, he always wanted me to take control, to tell him what to do. But it felt so wonderful to be needed in this way, to be close to a man again that I just went along with things and didn't think too much about it.

Of course it didn't take long for the gossip to start. I saw the looks, heard the whispers from the village folk. No doubt Martin heard the gossip too and hated it, but I wasn't prepared to live my life just to please others, not when I'd had so many lonely years by myself. They could all go hang as far as I was concerned.

I spent as much time as I could with Edward, but of course I still had my farm to look after, and Edward still had his jobs to do for Carrie Wilson in return for his free lodgings. Carrie seemed to take quite an interest in us, with a little smirk on her face as she watched us go upstairs together to Edward's room. Of course, she was herself a well known local man eater, but she always set her sights on a much higher meal ticket than a lowly art student cum decorator such as Edward. It hadn't taken long for her husband Steven to tire of her ways and then he'd upped and left her. However, clever woman that she undoubtedly was, she had ended up with the hotel while her ex husband ended up with virtually nothing.

Carrie was a very attractive woman, always impeccably dressed, always made up and heavily perfumed, usually with her pert bosoms out on display. She'd asked me a couple of times about Martin, trying to find out if he had ever been married, if there was anyone special in his life , but I'd given nothing away. I realised that in financial terms, Martin was a pretty good catch, GP's earned very good money these days. And some women would maybe look on Martin as something of a challenge, would find it fun to try and seduce him with a bit of flirting and feminine wiles – and I was certain that Carrie was an expert at that, with her silly little girl voice and mannerisms designed to appeal to the chivalrous side of the male ego. I couldn't ever imagine Martin falling for that, but I did wonder how Louisa viewed her rival for Martin's affections.

**xXx**

One afternoon, Edward and I had a lovely picnic on the beach together, but eventually I realised that I had to get back to the farm. Edward was lying with his head on my lap, and as I ran my fingers through his silky hair, he pleaded with me to stay, telling me that he needed looking after just as a child would.

"You're a grown man, you can do without me for a couple of hours," I laughed at him.

"Five more minutes. We can have ice cream," he pleaded.

"Those chickens won't feed themselves Edward," I reminded him.

Edward grabbed my hand and pleaded again.

"My mum used to say my name exactly like that when she was angry," he said as he gazed up adoringly at me, and at that moment Martin's words came back to me '_it means he thinks you're his mother'_

"Right, I won't say it again then," I told him rather uncomfortably, beginning to wonder what on earth I had got myself into, but then, as usual, pushing the doubts to the back of mind.

"I really don't mind," he smiled at me happily.

He finally let me go once we had arranged to meet up again in the evening, in his hotel room. PC Penhale was having his birthday party downstairs, but we weren't bothered by that.

As usual, Edward took his hay fever medication when I arrived. He'd told me that as long as he took his pills, he never had any problems, so clearly they were very effective.

That evening, Edward seemed even keener to make love than usual.

"Tell me what a good boy I am, tell me what I have to do," he pleaded as we got into bed.

But then, to my horror, he started twitching and convulsing. I called out his name, and then he suddenly went quiet and lay there still and lifeless. I tried to find his pulse, to check his breathing, but by now I was panicking. He looked like…well he looked as if he was dead!

I grabbed Edward's mobile phone from the side, and with a shaking hand tried to ring Martin, but it went straight to the surgery answer phone, and I realised that he must already be out somewere.

Deciding that I had to do something to get help, I went rushing downstairs, and to my immense relief, I saw Martin just walking into the hotel, carrying some sort of newspaper parcel under his arm.

"Put some clothes on!" Martin hissed at me, when he saw that I was wearing just my dressing gown. Of course he was embarrassed because some of the party guests were milling round and were now looking at me with some amusement.

"I think he's dead!" I exclaimed, as I urged him to come upstairs to Edward, and luckily he followed straight after me, handing me his newspaper parcel to hold as we entered the room. It seemed to be something furry and squishy, but I didn't pay too much attention to it.

Martin examined Edward and soon established that he was in fact alive. Of course, then he wanted to know what had been going on – from the fact that we were both in a state of undress in Edward's bedroom, I thought the answer to that question was pretty obvious really, and within a couple of seconds Martin caught on and worked out _exactly_ what had been going on. Then he wanted to know if we'd been drinking or taking drugs, which I found rather insulting as we were hardly a couple of teenagers, but I did tell him about the hay fever tablets, about how good they were, because Edward hadn't sneezed once.

But when Martin took the bottle and read the label, it turned out that they weren't hay fever tablets at all. The stupid boy had been taking the tablets for erectile dysfunction, and as he'd been taking a higher than recommended dose, Martin told me that no doubt that was what had been causing his seizures.

Finally I had no option but to face up to the truth and stop living in a dream world. Edward's behaviour towards me suggested very strongly that he did in fact have an Oedipus complex, just as Martin had suggested. Blast him, as usual Martin was bang on the money with his diagnosis. This was a very disturbed young man that I had become embroiled with. I had closed my eyes to the improbability of any normal young man wanting to have an affair with an old saggy, baggy woman like me who was twice his age. All the evidence had been there, but because of my vanity, my need to feel desirable again, I'd chosen to ignore it. Now I felt like the foolish old woman that I clearly was.

As we sat together downstairs in the hotel lounge to wait for the ambulance to arrive, Martin had the grace to apologise to me about his Oedipus remark and even admitted that he'd been unkind. I was very touched by this – Martin virtually _never_ apologised, so clearly our argument had been playing on his mind and pricking his conscience.

But with a big sigh, I admitted to him that actually I thought that he was probably right.

"Really? Creepy," was his horrified reaction.

"Mummy? Is that you?" Edward mumbled in a pathetic 'little boy' voice, as he sat opposite us in a chair wrapped up in a blanket, still drowsy from his seizure. Martin and I just looked at each other, as these words simply confirmed our suspicions.

Having been assured by Martin that there was no reason to think that Edward wouldn't make a full recovery, but that he would be strongly recommending that he was seen by a psychiatrist, I decided that the most sensible course of action now was to break all ties with the young man, and so I didn't go with him in the ambulance.

As I went back upstairs to gather my things, I saw to my great surprise that Martin was making his way into Penhale's party, complete with the newspaper package that he had retrieved from me. I stood and watched as he was greeted first by Louisa – and then by Carrie Wilson. I chuckled as I thought to myself that this must surely be the first time in Marty's life when he seemed to have _two _beautiful women fighting over him.

When I left a short while later, I slipped out of the back door of the hotel to avoid the party goers. There I saw Carrie Wilson in floods of tears as she cradled what seemed to be her little Yorkshire terrier dog, lifeless and partly wrapped in newspaper.

"Tinkle, oh my darling, precious Tinkle, what did that _evil_ man do to you, how could he do that to Mummy's little princess," she was crooning.

Clearly this was what Martin had been carrying round with him but what on earth he'd been doing with a dead dog I really couldn't imagine. However, as I'd had more than enough excitement for one day, I didn't stop to find out, instead beating a hasty retreat before anyone saw me and started asking awkward questions about Edward.


	29. Chapter 29

**_A/N - Sorry for the delay in updating with this latest chapter, but _ unfortunately _real life has been getting in the way._**

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 29**

"Oh _Marty._"

As I looked up at my nephew, I was shocked to see that his eyes were brimming with tears, and I realised that he was very upset indeed. I immediately regretted the way that I'd light heartedly joked with him about his date with Louisa going 'doo lally'. Whatever had passed between them, it was obvious that he was now heartbroken.

But of course he brushed aside my concern as always, and as it was nearly time for his afternoon surgery, I had no option but to leave him to it and make my way back the farm, still bloody annoyed with Bert over his cancellation of his vegetable order, which was what I had originally popped in to talk to Marty about.

**xXx**

The previous day, I'd been very surprised to see Martin at the concert as I'd arrived to help my good friend Annie Dove with the catering for the event at the beautiful stately home.

"Oh Good Lord, what are you doing out!" I'd exclaimed, and then I was even more surprised – but delighted – to see that Louisa was with him.

She looked gorgeous in a black and white spotted dress that had a very flattering white lace panel to show off her enviably tiny waist, and she was wearing her hair up which made her look very elegant. Her ensemble was finished off by a pair of pretty sparkly black shoes, and I thought that Martin must surely feel very proud of his beautiful date – although I couldn't imagine that he had actually thought to pay Louisa a compliment on her appearance. He also looked very smart indeed in what I thought was probably a new suit as I couldn't recall seeing it before. They made a very handsome couple.

"A friend of mine's one of the players. It should be nice anyway, it's a lovely evening, and it's for charity," Louisa had explained.

"Are you on your own?" Martin had asked me, looking round and no doubt wondering if I was going to spring another inappropriate lover on him, after my ill advised affair with Edward. He seemed to be offering for me to go in with them, but of course I had no intention of playing gooseberry and spoiling their date.

"Oh that's very sweet of you, but no dear, I'm just helping Annie Dove. No, you just carry on," I'd urged him, as I hurried on ahead and made my way to the kitchen to find my friend. I'd allowed myself a little smile because I was so happy that Martin finally seemed to be making some progress with Louisa, and so I'd crossed my fingers and prayed that Martin didn't stuff up this wonderful opportunity at such a romantic venue.

But of course when I found the happy couple during the interval, it seemed that Martin had somehow managed to be his usual tactless self because Annie had walked off in a huff when I'd tried to introduce them to her. Martin escaped by claiming that he needed the loo, but Louisa had looked mortified, and had mumbled something about Martin forgetting he knew Annie, before beating a hasty retreat.

I'd sighed to myself and put it down to one of the usual little ups and downs in their stop/start relationship, not realising at the time just how catastrophic an evening it was to be for them.

**xXx**

I worried about Marty all afternoon, and decided that I would go back over later that evening and take him some supper, rather than let him brood on his own.

Whatever had occurred that evening between Martin and Louisa, it seemed that things were finally over between them. I was desperately disappointed, because I had truly believed that they would be good for one another. Martin would provide some stability and reliability for Louisa, and she would lighten him up, bring some fun into his dour life. But perhaps I had misread things, only seen things in the way that I wanted them to be. I had to face facts – although I knew Martin to be a very decent and honest man, I certainly couldn't deny that he was not at all easy to get along with at times. And Louisa was a lovely sociable girl as well as being very beautiful, so maybe she had wearied of trying to unravel the mystery of Martin and what he was feeling, maybe it had proved to be an insurmountable task.

Although it broke my heart to see him so upset, I realised that it was no good wishing for the impossible, and I decided my task now was to get Martin to accept things and move on. Even as a boy, he had a habit of shutting himself away and bottling things up when he was upset, and I didn't think it was a healthy way to deal with things. No, I would go over later and get him to face up to things and deal with it.

**xXx**

I could see that Martin was not exactly thrilled to see me when I turned up that evening with a casserole, but as I busied about putting it in the oven and putting the pan on for the vegetables, I carried on chatting to him, not letting him deter me with his grumpiness and taciturn manner.

"So, are you still down in the dumps?" I asked, deciding to get right to the heart of the matter straight away.

"What do you want Auntie Joan?" he asked sourly.

"Well, I didn't want you to go on moping for too long, so I decided to speed the process up a bit," I explained matter of factly.

"Oh goody," he replied sarcastically. But he didn't pretend that he didn't know what I was talking about, which was a step in the right direction, neither did he tell me to mind my own business or to go away, so I knew that I'd been right to come over. He _did_ need someone to talk to, although he would never admit it, or actually ask for my help. But he was going to get my advice anyway.

"Quit fretting Martin. You're chalk and cheese the pair of you. She was never going to make you happy. Observe and move on."

I'd decided that I had to revise my original opinion that they would compliment each other and console my nephew with the fact that they were just too different to be compatible. Truth was, I was still trying to convince myself of this, but it was the only way I could see to help him get over the painful break up.

"Jolly good," he responded, as he tried to tell me he wasn't hungry, but I knew he needed to eat despite his protests.

Clearly my words hit home, because after a couple of minutes, Martin asked me,

"Why do you say that, that we're chalk and cheese?"

I looked at his sad face, and wished that things could be different, easier for my Marty, but that's the way it was, and it was no good pretending otherwise.

"There's nothing you can do about it," I told him gently.

"Well thanks Auntie Joan, that's really helpful!" he snapped back at me, as if I could wave a magic wand and make things better for him just like that.

"She likes people," I spelled to out to him, thinking of how embarrassed Louisa had been yesterday at Martin's rudeness to Annie.

"Are you saying that I don't?" he demanded. Well actually, yes I was, surely he couldn't deny that he was unsociable in the extreme to the whole village – apart from maybe Louisa, and occasionally myself. But that was just the way he was, and I understood that, and I'd hoped that maybe Louisa had too.

"I'm not criticising you Marty, you are well…_you_." I tried to explain.

Clearly Martin had been brooding as I feared he would, because now he replied defensively.

"If, by that, you mean that I say what I think, that I don't have a predisposition toward a convenient lie, then yes, guilty as charged," he told me.

Then he heaved a great big sigh, before continuing with a nasty jibe at me.

"What does one have to do to achieve a blissful personal life like you? I notice _you_ live alone."

"Thank you Marty," I replied sharply. "We are what we are, we can't change."

"Nonsense, of course we can. Well, maybe you couldn't, but I could," he claimed.

"What?"

"Talk rubbish and smile all the time, if there was any point. But there isn't, so I don't. It's quite simple."

With that, he walked away from me, and I decided to pursue the matter no further while we had our supper together. But from the events that occurred next, it appeared that his feelings ran very deep indeed, and that Martin was not prepared to give up on Louisa, despite my advice for him to accept that things were over and to move on.

**xXx**

I thought that Dave the postie was joking when he delivered my post a couple of days later and told me that Martin and Louisa were engaged, but he assured me that it was true.

Of course I immediately tried ringing Martin, but I couldn't get hold of him, and it wasn't until later that day when I finally saw his car pull up on the farm that I was able to get to the bottom of the matter. Telling me his good news had not been top of his priorities, and of course he hadn't reckoned on the village gossip reaching me before he did, so he had the grace to look a bit embarrassed that I had already heard his news before he got round to calling in to see me, on his way back from visiting Beth Sawle up on the moor.

But I couldn't stay angry with him for long when I saw the sheer happiness on his face as he actually managed a sheepish smile when he confirmed that he and Louisa were indeed engaged, and I gave him a big hug. At last! I was so happy for him, thrilled that he and Louisa had somehow managed to sort things out between them.

From his expression when I asked if he'd got an engagement ring for Louisa, it hadn't even occurred to him that he should buy one, so I asked if he would like my mother's diamond engagement ring to give to her. I had inherited it when she had passed away many years ago, but I had never worn it, although it was a beautiful ring. I had my own treasured engagement ring that that Phil had bought me, and now I repeated his words to Martin.

"Can't have an engagement without a ring," I said. I'd originally thought I would pass it on to my own son or daughter, but of course Martin was the nearest thing I had to a child of my own, so it seemed the natural thing to do, and he gratefully accepted my offer. We went inside and I went and got it to show him, and he seemed quite impressed as he looked at it in its own little box.

"Only the best was good enough for my mother you know," I told him. "I've never had it valued as I would never have sold it, however tight the finances got, but I expect it's pretty valuable. They are pretty big diamonds aren't they?"

I knew Martin always bought the best of everything, and I didn't want him to think I was giving him some old piece of tat to give to his new fiancée.

"Yes, I'm sure Louisa will like it. What was she like then, my grandmother?" Martin asked, not remembering her as she had died when he was just a young boy.

"Hmm, where to start. Haven't your parents ever told you about her?"

"No, not really. Mum and Dad were never really into family chit chat."

No, that was certainly true, they were never really into any kind of chit chat or personal contact with their son, I thought to myself.

"Well, apparently I look quite a lot like her, but in character we were not alike at all, she was a terrible snob. Lived to quite a good age, but suffered with rheumatoid arthritis in later years, made her rather tetchy and bad tempered on top of everything else. She was horrified when I chose to live down here on the farm. Thought I should marry some eligible young man in London rather than your Uncle Phil, my parents refused to have anything to do with us to start with, cut me off, as did your father," I recalled.

"Really? I had no idea. But Uncle Phil was such a decent man," Martin said, clearly surprised.

"Well they all came to realise that in time, although you could never say that we were close. But of course when you came along, things changed because I used to help out with taking care of you , right from when you were a new born baby you know, feeding you, changing your nappies, everything. You had such a sweet little…" I told him laughingly, as I patted his behind.

"Yes, yes alright, I get the picture," Martin told me as he cringed.

"What about you and Louisa, do you think you'll have a family? I mean, I imagine Louisa might like a baby before too long," I probed, unable to resist asking the question. hardly daring to hope that there would be a baby in the family after all these years.

Martin looked at me, horrified.

"Good God Auntie Joan, one step at a time! Don't you think that maybe she sees enough disgusting children in her job at school?" he suggested.

"Don't you think this is something that you should discuss and agree with Louisa, sooner rather than later?" I countered, worried that Martin had not thought things through, that he had got carried away by his feelings for Louisa.

"Yes, of course," he replied evasively, with a shifty look on his face. I let the matter drop, not wanting to put a dampener on things on this happy day.

However, it was only a few days after this that he told me that they were getting married in three weeks time, and I couldn't help worrying that they were rushing into things without really sorting out their future plans. But I could hardly criticise as I had accepted Phil's proposal on our first date, and we would have got married straight away if it hadn't been for the fact that my father had refused to give his permission. So I just crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

**xXx**

But of course that wasn't good enough, and in the end, they both got cold feet at the very last moment, and the wedding didn't take place. If only they hadn't rushed into things, if they had given themselves more time to get used to each other and work out how they were going to manage their lives together, things might have turned out so differently, because they really did love one another, of that there was no doubt at all in my mind. But act in haste, repent at leisure, as the old saying goes.

I think Martin hit rock bottom when he found out that Louisa had left the village to take up a teaching post in London, meaning that he couldn't even watch and worship her from afar, as he always had since he'd arrived in the village. Now he just had a great big black hole in his life where Louisa had been, and he coped in the only way he knew how. He buried himself in his work, carrying on in an even more terse and brusque manner than before. The villagers cut him a bit of slack under the circumstances, and also because by now they knew that he was a bloody good doctor even if his bedside manner was appalling.

I tried my best to look after him, to make sure he was alright, but Martin seemed to shut off all his feelings now, and kept up a defensive front to all my enquiries, refusing to discuss anything to do with Louisa. I think it was just all far too painful for him.

And so the months passed, things settled down, and the non wedding became old gossip. Life carried on, and much to my horror, bills continued to roll in, and prices seemed to have gone up every time. The income I made from my produce just wasn't enough, I had used up all my meagre savings as well as the loans I had taken from the bank in desperation, so now I racked my brain to come up with another way to generate some more money.

In the end, I decided to try my hand at running a Bed and Breakfast business. The farmhouse was certainly big enough, maybe it was a bit tatty, but that was part of the charm I decided, it showed that it was a real Cornish farm. And it would be nice to have some other people around the place sometimes, as Marty was not very good company these days, and didn't call in as often as he used to.

So I had some cards printed off to advertise my new B & B enterprise, and went into the village to put them up on as many notice boards as I could to spread the word.

I went into Martin's surgery to put one up on his notice board, I knew he wouldn't mind. As I did so, I could hardly believe my ears.

"Miss Glasson's got the job at the school," Pauline bellowed across the room at Martin, having finished the phone conversation she'd been engrossed in when I'd come in – something about lugging a great lump about.

"Miss Glasson? What school?" I asked in disbelief. It was too much of a coincidence to have another teacher with the same name at the same school surely?

"The school. Our school," she told me.

"Louisa Glasson?" I asked again. Why on earth would Louisa be back, what could this mean?

"She came back yesterday. _Expecting_." Pauline told me with a knowing nod.

"Expecting what?" I asked. Pauline was making no sense to me whatsoever.

"A _baby_," she announced, having looked over at Martin and then back at me.

"_Martin_?"

I was absolutely gob smacked as I looked over at him for confirmation. He was ashen faced as he indicated to me to go through to his consulting room with him, and then firmly closed the door behind him.


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my overactive imagination.**

**A Liberated Woman**

**Chapter 30**

"It's not my fault!" Martin told me defensively, as soon as he'd closed the door against Pauline's flapping ears.

"Oh," I said, crest fallen. The thought of a baby had instantly filled me with sheer delight, whatever the circumstances, but now Martin seemed to be saying that it wasn't his, and I was _so_ disappointed. However he soon corrected himself.

"I mean it _is_ my fault, but it's not _just_ my fault. It's not my fault that you don't know. I didn't know until yesterday," he babbled.

Clearly he was still in a state of shock about Louisa's return, especially a pregnant Louisa. Well, as a man of medicine, he above all people knew how babies were conceived and also how to prevent babies being conceived, so the fact that he was so surprised was a bit of a mystery to me.

"How pregnant is she?" I enquired.

"Six months I'd say," he said, and the shock must have shown on my face – shock that Louisa had kept such important news from Martin for so long.

"Mm, I know. She doesn't want me involved," he elaborated, and I realised that as well as being in a state of shock, Martin was actually very hurt because it seemed that for whatever reason, Louisa was shutting him out.

"What did she say?" I asked him gently.

"She said that she was fine, and I wasn't to worry."

"Bollocks! You're the father. How do you feel about that?"

I thought that Louisa was probably being just as defensive of her feelings as Martin, and that it was going to be up to him to show her that he wanted to be involved. And surely he _did_ want to be involved. Did he not realise how lucky he was? When I thought of how Phil and I had tried so desperately, for so long, to have a baby, and here was Martin effortlessly fathering a child on what must have been one of the first few occasions that he and Louisa had had sex.

"What?" Martin replied evasively as soon as I mentioned 'feelings', but I wasn't going to let him get away with it – not when it was his child we were talking about.

"Being a father," I pressed him.

"Me?"

"Yes Martin, you! What are you going to do?" I was getting pretty frustrated by his attitude - for goodness sake, this was far too important a matter for him to bury his head in the sand about.

"In what way?" he queried.

"Well for Louisa. She's got no family to speak of. Her body's teeming with hormones. In three months time she's going to have a baby on her own. I think she might be in a little trouble, don't you?" I spelled it out for him.

It was clear to me that Louisa was going to need help, but it seemed that Martin had been feeling too shocked and too sorry for himself about everything to be able to see things from the other side.

"Yes," he reluctantly agreed, as the penny finally seemed to drop that he was going to have to take some responsibility here, whatever Louisa said.

**xXx**

Naturally, I thought about little else apart from the baby when I left the surgery. I decided that whatever had gone on between Martin and Louisa, whatever the reason for her reluctance to tell him about the pregnancy, it was none of my business. I had been plagued by guilt ever since they had called off their wedding, worried that my words to Martin '_she was never going to make you happy' _had somehow influenced him in his decision to call things off. So now I was determined not to interfere between them, and I certainly had no intention of taking sides. All I wanted to do was to help Louisa and the baby in any way that I possibly could. Naturally I would be nudging Martin to try to encourage him to do his bit, but if he was reluctant, and if Louisa didn't want him involved, so be it.

Practical help, such as lifts, I could surely offer, but I knew that I had to tread carefully with Louisa. She was a strong minded, highly independent woman who was clearly intent on doing things her own way, and if I wanted to be involved with this baby – which I most certainly did - then I had to respect her wishes. However, I just couldn't help myself, knowing that Louisa's cottage was still rented out, I found myself fantasising about Louisa coming to live with me, and being very involved in bringing up the baby. Just the thought of Martin's baby at Havenhurst made me nearly delirious with happiness. I was full of respect, of gratitude to Louisa for going ahead with this unplanned pregnancy, for not aborting the baby when clearly it had scuppered her career plans in London. There was absolutely no question, I would give her my total and full support with whatever help she would accept from me.

So later on that afternoon, when I spotted her heading towards Mrs Tishell's shop, I hurried over to catch up with her there.

"Louisa!" I said, as I gave her a hug. Whatever had happened between her and Martin, we had not fallen out, and I was determined to make that plain to her.

She already had a quite large and obvious pregnancy bump, and I thought that she had never looked more beautiful, she was radiant and glowing.

"The incredible exploding woman," she joked, as she patted her bump.

"No, no, you look beautiful, doesn't she," I turned to Sally Tishell for confirmation. But she looked very sour faced and was not at all convincing in her agreement with me. Funny woman, I had always suspected that she had a soft spot for Martin herself, but of course she was meant to be a happily married woman. But the look she was throwing Louisa's way suggested more than a hint of jealousy to me.

I struck up a conversation with Louisa.

"Well, it's been months, have you forgotten all about us? So how is everything? When do you get your house back?" I asked, and she explained that it was tricky as the new Head teacher was living there now, as well as having taken over her job.

"You could come and stay with me," I offered tentatively, and I think that she was a little taken aback, especially as I offered to help with the baby too, hardly able to contain my excitement at the prospect. Louisa told me she'd think about it, and I told her to ring me if there was anything I could do to help before we parted and went our separate ways on leaving the chemists.

I was delighted when she rang me that evening, and asked if I could possibly give her a lift for her antenatal check at Truro hospital the next day, as the buses were so infrequent that it would take her nearly all day to get there and back again. Of course I was more than happy to agree, and so we arranged that I would pick her up near the Platt.

The following day as I pulled up in my truck, I was pleased to see that she was stood talking to Martin as she was waiting for me. I felt that any communication between the two of them had to be a good thing, and at least they didn't appear to be arguing.

**xXx**

As Louisa came out from her check up at the hospital, I was surprised to hear her having a somewhat heated conversation with one of the doctors. I was even more surprised when I realised just who that doctor was. Edith Montgomery, Martin's previous fiancée from his student days. I hadn't liked her then, and I didn't like her now. She recognised me too, but called me 'Auntie Jill', stupid woman. I couldn't get away from her quick enough as I ushered Louisa towards the exit.

"Nice to meet you again, Louisa, and you Jill," Edith called after us.

"What did she mean Louisa, nice to meet you again? When did you meet her before, I thought this was your first hospital appointment?" I asked, as we walked back to my truck.

"She was at Martin's house when I called in, that first evening when I got back," Louisa replied, trying to act all unconcerned and uninterested, but suddenly I could picture it all so clearly. Martin had had another woman in his house, was socialising with her, and so Louisa had assumed that he had moved on, and was in a new relationship. Of course Martin hadn't mentioned to me that Edith had been there, no wonder Louisa had backed right off. Stupid boy.

Of course now Louisa's curiosity was piqued, and so she couldn't help herself, she just had to ask about Edith, and eventually I told her that she and Martin had once been engaged, but that they had split up when she had gone abroad for her career. I told her that it was all a long time ago, but I had to admit that I was not at all pleased that Edith Montgomery had reappeared on the scene.

**xXx**

Martin continued with his pretence that he wasn't interested in Louisa or the baby, claiming that he was only doing what he was told because she had made it abundantly clear to him that she did not wish him to be involved, but he didn't fool me for one minute. If only he had had the confidence to try to sort things out with Louisa, I felt sure that she would have welcomed his interest, but communication had never been great between those two at the best of times. And the elephant in the room – in the shape of Edith – didn't seem to be going anywhere in a hurry, judging by the gossip circulating in the village that 'the Doc had a new girlfriend'.

Martin pretended to me that he didn't know Louisa was having a scan when I informed him that it had gone well, but I was sure that he would have found a way to see the results one way or the other in any case. I would have loved to have gone in with Louisa when she had the scan, but as she didn't invite me in, I had no option but to wait outside after I'd given her a lift to the hospital.

Maybe if I had stood back more, it would have forced Martin to become more involved and help her, but I just couldn't take that chance. Louisa was so fiercely proud and independent that she may well have simply struggled on on her own, as nearly proved to be the case when she moved in to old Mr Routledges' cottage.

To my great regret, Louisa had said that she wouldn't move into Havenhurst with me because it was too far from the school, although I would have happily run her there and back each day, but she wouldn't hear of it. So as I knew that Mr. Routledge was hoping to move into a nursing home in the very near future, I suggested that it might be a good idea for her to visit him to check on his plans, because his cottage was in an ideal location for her in the village, near to the school. So when he did move out after breaking his hip in a nasty fall, Louisa quickly managed to organise things so that she could move in.

But I was horrified to learn that she planned to move herself in, as she declared,

"I'm just pregnant Joan, not ill or disabled. I'll be fine, really."

I insisted that as I had my truck to transport things, she could get moved in much more easily and quickly if she let me help her, and so Louisa finally agreed, much to my great relief. And so it was that we came to be lifting her chairs into her new home between us. We brought in the sofa, then we went back for the chair, and then Louisa stumbled. She looked very pale and said she felt a bit faint, so I helped her inside, made her lie down and put her feet up on the sofa that we'd just brought in and immediately phoned Martin, despite her protests that she didn't need him. I was taking no chances whatsoever, and I watched out of the window impatiently for him as Louisa rested with a glass of water. Of course by the time he actually arrived, she was looking much better.

"You took your time," I hissed at him as he came in. He went straight over to Louisa and peered into her eyes.

"She seems fine now, but I don't know. Does she seem pale to you?" I worried.

"No. she just seems very stupid," he replied tetchily. "What did you think you were doing?"

"And good morning to you," Louisa replied sarcastically.

"Shifting furniture!" Martin continued to lecture her, as he rearranged some boxes so that he could sit beside her to undertake his examination.

"We brought in the sofa, I went back for a chair and I felt a little bit faint, that's all." Louisa offered by way of explanation.

"Really? I wonder why. Could it be because you're seven months pregnant?" Martin was also sarcastic now, as he checked her blood pressure, and questioned her about exactly what had happened, coming to the conclusion that it sounded less and less like an emergency as he discovered that she hadn't actually passed out. Well I had thought it better to be safe than sorry, and I knew that Martin would never have forgiven me if I _hadn't_ called him out and something terrible had happened. His blustering manner and bad temper was due to worry and shock I realised, now that he was relieved that Louisa seemed fine.

Of course Martin couldn't help himself, he continued to berate Louisa, telling her that she couldn't expect to behave like a normal person, because she was going to have a baby, and naturally it developed into a proper row between them as Louisa gave as good as she got.

As he checked the baby's heartbeat, Martin complained about the smell in the cottage, which I had to admit was pretty bad. He accused my little dog Buddy, but it wasn't him. Louisa started to list all the potential causes, blocked toilet, something behind the fridge, and I could see that Martin was horrified.

Then he started to lecture her.

"Your body is trying to tell you to lie down, rest and stop working," he commanded.

"I don't want to stop teaching," Louisa insisted stubbornly.

"How many days a week are you working?"

"Five."

"Make it three," he instructed.

Louisa told him firmly that she couldn't, that she was the acting Head teacher following Mr Strain's illness. Actually, she told him, she had applied to become the permanent Head teacher, but that it would all be fine because the baby was due in the school holidays. With this, Martin exploded at her.

"You are about to have a baby! You will still have that baby through to the end of the academic year. You will care for that child for the next eighteen years of your life – longer if it's handicapped! How on earth do you think you can cope with a full time job and be a full time mother?"

"I'll get some help" Louisa shouted back at him.

"Not from me!" he yelled back.

I realised that Martin was acting in this way because he was frustrated by the lack of control he had over everything, and maybe because he felt somewhat guilty as he had got her pregnant and in this situation. Clearly he hated the dirty, grubby cottage that Louisa was moving into, he hated that she was working so hard, and obviously he hated the idea of Louisa being a full time working mother. My phone call summoning him today because of Louisa's fainting spell had scared him, and I knew that if he had his way, he would be looking after and protecting Louisa – and the baby. But as things stood, this was not an option for him and he bitterly resented that fact. And it came out as pure nastiness rather than concern, but I had a feeling that deep down Louisa knew all this, knew that he was concerned about her even though he appeared to be being horrid.

"I can work – _and_ be a mum," Louisa insisted defiantly.

Of course then Martin had to see my little dog being rather naughty and cocking his leg against the table.

"This place is a minefield of bacteria. Next thing you'll be having a miscarriage," he pronounced tactlessly and Louisa looked shocked at his words.

That was the final straw for me, he really ought to learn to keep his thoughts to himself at times, this really wasn't helpful. Of course we were going to give the place a thorough going over to clean it up. And what did he think Louisa was going to live on when the baby came? She was not the type to lounge around and claim benefits, and he didn't seem to have made any offer to help out, so what did he expect the poor girl to do?

"Just go Martin, before you say something you really regret" I told him, and so he stomped out, clearly in a foul mood and I pitied any patients in his surgery that morning that didn't have a genuine medical complaint – they would certainly be getting short shrift from him today.

**xXx**

As the weeks went by, Martin and Louisa seemed further apart than ever. She was now Head teacher again, despite Martin's best attempts to sabotage her prospects.

Worse still, Martin came to see me and told me that he was going back to London, that he'd been working on his haemophobia so that he could get back into surgery. I was sure that Edith Montgomery had been an influence in encouraging his ambitions in that direction.

I just couldn't understand his reluctance to make any kind of plan to see his child even if he did move back to London – he was still the father after all. Maybe he was more like his father than I had ever thought, able to detach himself in that way. Or more likely, he was simply running away, lacking the confidence to tackle Louisa about including him in their child's future, and so unable to face up to his responsibilities, and if that was the case, I was ashamed of him.

**xXx**

I managed to catch Martin just before he was about to drive off to London, determined to be there to wave him off, however upset I felt. We hugged, but then he took the opportunity of the distraction of my naughty dog Buddy weeing on his shoe to make his escape.

As I walked down the hill from Martin's surgery, I saw that he hadn't got very far because of a medical emergency that had unfolded down on the Platt at the harbour day preparations. Ever the conscientious professional, Martin had stopped when he saw one of the teachers, Tasha, collapse and fall off the stage. I hurried down to see if there was anything that I could do to help.

As he questioned her to work out what was wrong, I noticed that Bert and Al were looking increasingly uncomfortable and shifty, until they finally confessed that they had been supplying used cooking oil to enable Tasha's husband Tommy to make his own Bio fuel. Of course with Martin's scientific expertise, he quickly worked out that both Tasha and Tommy were suffering from some sort of poisoning due to the fumes, and he immediately improvised a treatment for her using some alcohol while they waited for the ambulance.

Then I suddenly had a dreadful thought. I remembered that as I'd driven through the village earlier, I'd seen Louisa waiting for a taxi outside the school, to take her for her hospital check up. I'd stopped as I told her that I'd happily take her, but she'd replied that she had to start being more independent, and so unhappily I'd had to back off.

Martin was horrified when I told him about Louisa and that it could have been Tommy's taxi that she was waiting for. He quickly grabbed his mobile phone from his pocket and tried to call her, but with the terrible signal coverage, all he managed to establish once he got through to her was that she was indeed in Tommy's taxi. I saw a panic stricken look pass over his face before he shot off in his car after her.

All the rest of us could do now was wait to hear from him, and hope for a safe outcome. I was so worried and so upset with myself that I hadn't insisted on taking Louisa to the hospital myself, but I supposed that I couldn't have forced her into my truck. But if anything had happened to her and the baby, I would never forgive myself.

It seemed forever that we hung around, until finally Pauline got a call from Martin, explaining where he was on the moor, and demanding to know where the nearest pub was. It seemed that the taxi had crashed, but that Louisa was alright, and I was more relieved than I thought it was possible to be. I guessed that he needed a pub to obtain some alcohol to treat Tommy in the way that he had treated Tasha, while he waited for an ambulance to arrive for Tommy.

Somehow, Martin didn't terminate his call properly, and so we were able to listen in as events unfolded. They made it to the pub, but now Louisa had gone into labour! We all listened intently as Martin attempted to take control when the ambulance crew arrived, blustering and shouting at them until finally Louisa lost her patience with him and ordered him out of the room. But thankfully she relented, just as Martin plucked up the courage to rush back in and finally admit his feelings to her.

And so Martin was there, with Louisa, in his rightful place, as their baby was born.

**xXx**

A boy. A baby boy. Perfect and gorgeous, with ten little fingers and toes. And a very healthy pair of lungs on him too.

As I held him in my arms, everything in the world seemed perfect at last.

From the look that I had seen on Martin's face when I walked into the hospital room to see him holding his new born son, I knew that he would move heaven and earth to make sure that he was part of his son's life from now on, and nothing would ever change that.

**The End.**

A/N. _Many thanks to everyone who has stuck with my story through thirty chapters, and especially to those who have been kind enough to take the time to leave a review – it is always very much appreciated_.

_Hope you all enjoy the new series five of 'Doc Martin'!_


End file.
